^tVtiNON  I 

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A  FELLOWE  AND  HIS  WIFE.  By  BLANCHE  WILLIS 
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HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY, 
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SEVEN    ON    THE 
HIGHWAY 


BY 


BLANCHE  WILLIS  HOWARD 

AUTHOR  OF  "GUHNN,"  "  THE  OPEN  DOOR" 
"ONB  SUMMER,"  ETC. 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

(Cfte  fttoewibe  f&re?& 

MDCCCXCVII 


COPYRIGHT,  1897,  BY 

BLANCHE  WILLIS  HOWARD  VON  TEUFFEL 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


1°S 

3  O 

r~t. 


You  try  to  set  yourself  apart  from  the 
-vulgar.  It  is  in  vain.  In  that  instant 
"vulgarity  attaches  itself  to  you. 

CARPENTER'S  Towards  Democracy. 


694843 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

MARIGOLD-MICHEL i 

NO  CONTINUING  CITY 56 

THALATTA! 90 

PUSS-IN-BOOTS 114 

THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED   .        .  174 

THE  MAJESTY  OF  THE  LAW      .        .        .  211 

ALL  SAILS  SPREAD  FOR  MONKEYLAND  .  245 


SEVEN  ON  THE  HIGHWAY 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

I 

MARIGOLD  -  MICHEL  strode 
down  the  mountain.  It  was 
five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and 
the  world  was  fresh.  From  his  broad- 
brimmed  rush  hat  wreathed  with  marsh 
marigolds,  streamed  long  stems  of  oak 
leaves  dancing  and  nodding  like  a  cava- 
lier's plumes.  His  face  was  brown,  gay, 
and  clean-shaved  except  for  a  big  mus- 
tache rather  yellower  than  his  faded  hat, 
or  even  the  straggling  ends  of  fair  hair 
curling  loosely  on  his  shoulders.  On  his 
arm  he  carried  a  large  basket  covered 
with  plantain  leaves ;  strapped  upon  his 
back,  a  canister ;  thrust  through  his  belt, 
a  peasant's  knife  sheathed  and  a  solid 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

bunch  of  marigolds.  Tall,  powerfully 
built,  in  a  weather-beaten  brown  jacket, 
his  long  legs  encased  in  foresters'  boots 
of  stout  russet  leather  reaching  halfway 
up  the  thigh,  he  swung  along  as  if  his 
soul  were  singing  a  blithe  tune.  The 
woods  were  full  of  birds;  he  piped  to 
them  like  a  thrush-initiate.  The  trees 
were  his  own  familiar  friends.  He  smiled 
as  in  response  to  the  vehement  babble 
of  the  small  brook  that  accompanied  his 
swift  feet  down  the  slope. 

Not  far  from  the  edge  of  the  forest  he 
crossed  a  few  fields  and  approached  a 
lonely  hut.  Deftly  as  he  took  from  his 
basket  and  put  upon  the  window-ledge 
some  cresses,  mint,  mushrooms,  Wald- 
meister,  and  a  few  flowers,  the  casement 
opened  slightly,  and  a  voice  gruff  as  that 
of  Red  Riding  Hood's  pseudo-grandmo- 
ther croaked,  "Is  that  you,  Michel  ? " 

"  Yes,  granny.  I  hope  you  are  feel- 
ing comfortable  this  morning." 

"  Comfortable  ?  Pray  what  should 
make  me  comfortable,  I  'd  like  to  know  ? 
Old  age  and  poverty  and  the  rheumatism 
in  every  bone  I  Ve  got  ?  Being  shunned 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

like  poison,  and  my  great-grandson  a  jail- 
bird? Comfortable!  That's  your  fool- 
talk,  Marigold-Michel." 

"All  right,  granny,"  the  man  returned 
cheerily.  "  Can  I  do  anything  for  you 
in  town  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it 's  town-day  again,  is  it  ?  No- 
thing better  to  do  than  to  strut  about 
with  your  weeds  dangling,  and  the  folk 
a-staring  ? " 

"  Not  much,"  he  said,  with  an  amused 
laugh. 

"  Laughing 's  cheap!"  she  growled. 
"Wait  till  you  are  a  rheumatic  old  wo- 
man neglected  of  every  mortal  soul,  your 
own  children  quarreling  with  you  tooth 
and  nail  whenever  they  cross  your  thresh- 
old, and  Hans  in  jail." 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  he  answered  sooth- 
ingly, his  voice  indulgent  and  mellow. 
"  There 's  a  lot  of  bad  luck  in  the  world." 

"  You  don't  know,  Marigold-Michel ! " 
retorted  the  exasperated  voice  behind 
the  casement.  "  Nobody  knows  any- 
thing about  my  rheumatism.  Those  that 
never  had  any  better  keep  still.  It  stands 
to  reason  they  know  nothing  about  it. 
3 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

Those  that  had  it  once,  they  've  forgot- 
ten, and  what  they  say  is  trash  and  fibs  ; 
they're  only  making  themselves  impor- 
tant. And  those  that  have  got  it,  they 
are  thinking  of  their  own  pains  every 
breath  they  draw,  and  that 's  why  I  say 
nobody  on  earth  knows  anything  about 
my  rheumatism." 

"  Come,  granny,  what  do  you  want  to- 
day ?  A  little  snuff  ?  " 

"That  last  was  pretty  nasty,"  she 
grumbled. 

"  We  '11  try  to  get  some  that 's  good. 
And  a  wee  drop  of  gin  ?  That 's  a  bit 
comforting  for  our  rheumatism,  eh, 
granny  ?  " 

"Any  child  knows  that  without  ask- 
ing." 

"Coffee?" 

"  Perhaps  you  think  the  last  quarter- 
pound  parcel  you  brought  ought  to  last 
forever  ?  "  she  rejoined  acrimoniously. 

"  Fuel  you  have  for  a  month,  at  least, 
and  beer  and  potatoes;  bread  and  milk 
and  eggs  the  child  Genoveva  brings. 
As  to  Hans,  poor  little  chap,  I  shall  go 
to  see  him  to-day,  if  they  '11  let  me  in. 

4 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

But  he's  all  right.  He  had  no  more  to 
do  with  the  burglary  than  I  had.  If  he 
refuses  to  explain  why  he  was  lurking  in 
the  neighborhood,  it 's  a  sure  case  of 
sweetheart." 

"Minx!" 

"  But  I  think  he  will  tell  me  about  it. 
He  's  rather  fond  of  me.  He  inherits  it 
from  his  great-grandmother." 

"  Rubbish  ! " 

"  And  he  '11  be  up  to  see  you  before 
long." 

"  If  he  dare  to  show  himself,  I  '11  tell 
him  he 's  disgraced  the  family,  and  I  '11 
slam  the  door  in  his  face." 

"  And  drive  away  the  only  one  of  your 
children's  children  that  still  comes  to 
brighten  you  up  a  bit  ?  The  youngest, 
—  little  Hans  !  Oh,  you  '11  never  do 
that.  I  know  you  better.  You  '11  be  very 
amiable  and  affable,  and  awfully  nice, 
granny,  and  you  '11  give  him  a  mug  of 
beer,  and  bid  him  come  again  as  soon 
as  ever  he  can  —  and  bring  his  sweet- 
heart." 

"  H'm !  Michel,  I  want  a  hank  of 
yarn,  —  gray  yarn  :  plain,  not  mottled ; 
5 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

dark,  not  light ;  and  medium,  neither 
coarse  nor  fine.  Here 's  a  sample,  which 
of  course  you  '11  lose,  and  you  '11  come 
back  empty-handed  and  say  you  forgot. 
It 's  a  mean  sort  of  world  for  a  poor  lone 
lame  old  woman.  If  you  're  young  and 
strong  and  go-as-you-please,  with  a  hoity- 
toity  and  a  whoop  and  hurrah  and  hulla- 
baloo, and  "  — 

"  Now  I  'm  off.  I  '11  fetch  all  your 
things,  never  fear.  And  I  would  n't  be 
quite  so  solitary,  day  in,  day  out.  Why 
do  you  not  talk  with  Genoveva  ? " 

"You  live  alone  yourself,  Marigold- 
Michel  ! " 

"  Quite  true.  —  She 's  a  jolly  little  maid, 
and  might  amuse  you.  Can't  you  tell 
her  a  story  or  something  ?  " 

"Her  mother,  the  last  time  she  ever 
came,  said  in  my  very  face  that  I  " 

"  Oh,  but  the  child  is  not  to  blame  that 
all  you  people  have  spicy  tongues.  To- 
morrow I'll  come  down  and  spend  the 
afternoon  with  you  if  I  may,  being,  as 
you  say,  so  alone  myself.  I  'm  weaving 
a  new  basket,  and  will  bring  my  work 
along." 

6 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

"Then  see  that  you  wipe  your  great 
dirty  boots.  I  '11  not  have  my  floor  lit- 
tered with  rushes  or  tracked  with  black 
slime  from  the  woods." 

The  tall  man  stood  bending  toward  the 
tiny  curtained  casement  which  screened 
his  amused  smile. 

"We'll  have  a  famous  gossip." 

"  If  you  bring  any  news  worth  hear- 
ing. Your  talk  is  mostly  as  dull  as  a 
son-in-law." 

"Good-by,  granny.  Take  care  of 
yourself." 

"If  I  don't,  nobody  else  will,  that's 
pretty  clear." 

"  Michel !  "  she  called  presently. 

He  stopped  and  turned.  "Well, 
granny  ? " 

"  Those  last  mushrooms  were  vile." 

He  let  loose  a  long-suppressed  chuckle 
before  calling  back  politely,  "These,  to- 
day, are  better,  I  hope." 

"  You  '11  poison  me  yet !  " 

He  went  on  a  few  steps. 

"  Michel ! " 

"Yes." 

"Plain  gray." 

7 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

"  Not  mottled,"  he  returned  jovially. 

"Dark." 

"Not  light." 

"  Medium,"  she  insisted. 

"  Neither  coarse  nor  fine." 

"Michel!" 

"  Yes,  granny,  but  say  it  all,  this  time." 

"Well,  you  needn't  be  so  impatient. 
Men-folks  never  have  the  least  control 
of  their  tempers."  Her  grim  and  wiz- 
ened face,  framed  by  a  nightcap,  peered 
out  of  the  window.  "  Tell  Hans  he  may 
come  up  when  he  gets  out.  You  '11  get 
the  lad  out  sure,  won't  you,  Marigold- 
Michel  ?  And  tell  him  not  to  be  such  a 
dyed-in-the-wool  idiot  another  time ! " 

Michel  swung  his  hat,  and  shouted  in 
a  great  sonorous  voice,  "  I  '11  tell  him 
you  know  he  is  innocent,  and  long  to  see 
him ! " 

"Well,  don't  roar  the  roof  off." 

Her  suspicious,  thankless  gaze  mus- 
tered his  offerings  on  the  window-ledge. 

"  Michel  !  "     she     screamed,     "  these 
cresses  !  "  and  again,  "  Michel !  "  or  some 
other    sound    of   rasping   protest   jarred 
across  the  quiet  fields. 
8 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

But  he,  going  on  at  a  great  pace,  took 
care  not  to  pause  again  or  turn  his  head. 

"Hullo  there!  Stop  that,  will  you? 
Stop,  I  say  !  "  he  commanded,  as  he 
reached  the  main  road,  where,  at  the  foot 
of  a  steep  byway,  a  peasant  stood  pom- 
meling his  nag  with  the  butt  end  of  his 
whip,  and  had  already  lifted  a  hobnailed 
boot. 

Presently  he  crawled  from  the  gutter, 
and  rubbed  various  portions  of  his  per- 
son as  he  advanced  red  and  scowling 
toward  Michel,  who  remarked,  "  Directly, 
directly,"  in  an  amiable  and  slightly  pre- 
occupied tone. 

Having  propped  the  cartwheels,  Michel 
was  engaged  in  inspecting  the  animal, 
freeing  his  head,  loosening  straps,  giving 
him  a  little  water,  and,  with  a  wet  sponge 
from  the  botanical  canister,  wiping  the 
dust  from  his  eyes  and  nostrils. 

"  What  the  devil  are  you  doing  to  my 
horse  ? " 

"  Encouraging  him." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  pitching  me 
into  the  gutter  ?  " 

"It  was  necessary." 
9 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

"  I  '11  teach  you !  "  blustered  the  peas- 
ant, squaring. 

"  Do,"  said  Michel  pleasantly. 

But  eying  the  other's  size  and  shape, 
the  man  came  no  nearer. 

"  I  '11  complain  of  you.  I  '11  have  you 
up  for  it.  Who  are  you,  anyhow,  with 
your  silly  looks  and  woman's  hair,  and 
posies  like  a  lovesick  maid  ?  Why,  wait ! 
I  say  !  I  Ve  heard  of  you.  Your  name 's 
Michel,  —  Wildflower-Michel." 

"That  is  one  of  my  names." 

"  Marigold-Michel." 

"  That  is  another." 

"  Fool-Michel." 

"  At  your  service." 

"Well,  I  '11  not  fight  a  fool." 

"  Nor  I,"  returned  Michel  genially. 

The  man  stared  and  slowly  grinned, 
watched  him  awhile,  and  said  at  last : 
"  Just  leave  me  my  own  horse,  will  you, 
Fool-Michel  ?  I  must  get  on." 

"  You  Ve  lost  no  time.  He  '11  go  now 
without  blows.  I  've  whispered  in  his 
ear." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  've  heard  of  your  tricks," 
muttered  the  peasant,  reluctantly  credu- 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

lous.  "  See  here.  It 's  my  horse,  and 
none  of  your  business,  but  even  a  fool 
can  see  there  's  nothing  the  matter  with 
him." 

"  He  's  a  good  little  beast,  not  ill  fed, 
but  overloaded  and  fagged.  Galled  here, 
too,  see  ?  I  've  protected  it.  You  Ve 
come  far,  I  presume  ? " 

"  I  Ve  been  on  the  road  four  days,  and 
not  hit  him  once  until  he  was  jaloux  just 
now." 

Michel  repressed  a  smile  at  the  odd 
foreign  word,  a  relic  of  the  French  oc- 
cupation, and  used  in  all  seriousness  by 
peasants  of  that  region  exclusively  for 
balky  horses. 

"  Then  why  did  you  begin  ? " 

"  Because  I  Ve  got  an  ill  boy.  He  's 
all  the  boy  I  have.  Perhaps  it  would 
get  into  your  own  nerves,  Fool-Michel, 
to  see  the  nag  go  jaloux  so  near  home." 

"  What  ails  your  boy  ? " 

"  As  if  I  knew  !  He  hangs  his  head 
and  moans,  my  wife  writes.  There  never 
was  anything  the  matter  with  him  be- 
fore," the  man  exclaimed  indignantly. 

"  How  old  is  he  ?  " 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

"Eight  years  old  next  September." 

"  Your  name  and  village." 

The  peasant  gave  them. 

"  I  '11  come  to  see  him  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. Send  for  the  doctor  at  once.  See, 
the  horse  pulls  well.  It 's  only  the  start 
that 's  steep.  Take  care  of  him.  You  '11 
have  to  pay  somewhere,  somehow,  for 
every  blow  you  give  him.  A  good  wash- 
down  and  extra  feed,  eh  ?  I  'm  sorry 
about  your  boy.  But  cheer  up.  You 
may  find  him  brighter  than  you  expect." 

Michel  had  walked  a  short  distance 
with  the  cart.  In  his  manner  was  a  cer- 
tain benevolent  authority,  an  innocent 
lordliness,  and  he  no  longer  spoke  in  dia- 
lect. With  a  friendly  tap  on  the  man's 
shoulder,  he  turned  back. 

"  I  say,  you  're  no  fool,  are  you,  now  ? " 
demanded  the  peasant,  staring  curiously. 

But  Michel  merely  smiled,  and  walked 
off  swiftly.  The  other,  looking  after  him, 
noted  the  waving  oak  plumage  and  all 
the  yellow  bravery,  and  grinned. 

"  Anybody  'd  know  he  was  a  fool ! 
Get  along,  old  fellow.  We  're  almost 
home."  Cheerfully  cracking  his  whip, 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

he  slapped  with  harmless  palm  the  will- 
ing horse,  now  pulling  stoutly  up  the 
hill. 

Down  the  long  road  to  the  town  went 
Michel,  now  and  again  branching  off  to 
the  right  or  left  to  leave  a  rare  botanical 
specimen  with  a  world-forgotten  old  pro- 
fessor, a  bunch  of  wood  violets,  anem- 
ones, or  ferns  at  the  doors  of  humble 
and  mostly  cross-grained  invalids.  Cer- 
tain sylvan  wares  he  sold  at  early  mar- 
ket for  fair  prices,  and  jested  in  dialect 
and  rough  humor  with  old  wives  who 
hailed  him  jovially. 

Everywhere  he  was  greeted  with  nods, 
smiles,  and  chaff.  A  coarse  fellow  on  a 
tram,  winking  at  his  mates,  called  out 
as  Michel  sat  rearranging  his  basket, 
"What's  that  yellow  M  for  in  that 
bunch  of  wildflowers  ? " 

Michel,  silent,  foolish  and  sly  with  half- 
closed  lids,  bent  over  his  posies  and  moss. 

"What  does  it  cost,  Michel  ?  " 

"  Fifty  pfennigs." 

"But  for  my  sweetheart,  because  her 
name  is  Marie,  you  '11  sell  it  me  cheap- 
er ? " 

'3 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

"  Is  his  sweetheart's  name  Marie  ?  " 
inquired  Michel. 

"  It  really  is,"  several  asserted,  laugh- 
ing. 

"  Give  it  me  for  twenty  pfennigs  be- 
cause her  name  begins  with  M,"  urged 
the  red-faced  jester. 

Michel  extended  the  bouquet.  "Give 
it  her — for  comfort,"  he  added  gravely, 
amid  the  laughter  of  the  men.  "And 
keep  your  twenty  pfennigs.  You  look 
as  if  you  'd  need  them  when  you  go  to 
housekeeping." 

"  When  he  is  in  a  good  vein  he  makes 
very  fair  shots.  Such  foolish  fellows 
often  can,"  a  solemn  gentleman  explained 
as  Michel  stepped  off  the  tram. 

Passing  rapidly  by  an  hotel  entrance, 
he  nearly  ran  into  an  immaculate  man  of 
fashion  emerging  languidly  in  clothes  of 
which  the  elbows  and  knees  knew  no  de- 
rogatory wrinkles,  and  the  shirt-collar  was 
like  unto  a  high  and  shining  tower,  so 
that  when  the  wearer  turned  his  head  he 
had  to  turn  his  toes.  The  two  exchanged 
brief  glances.  An  involuntary  smile  of 
amazement  crept  into  the  stranger's  eyes. 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

"  Good  Lord  !  "  reflected  the  emanci- 
pated one,  stretching  himself  in  his  lazy 
woolens,  "to  think  I  too  used  to  thrust 
my  body  into  broadcloth  tubes  and  hang 
a  glazed  platter  on  my  breast !  " 

In  a  sculptor's  studio  he  posed  long. 

"Ah,  give  me  another  hour,  Michel 
I  '11  make  it  worth  your  while." 

"  Not  for  your  weight  in  gold." 

"Ah,  Michel,  an  idle,  devil-may-care, 
happy  vagabond  like  you ! " 

"  Not  to-day." 

"  But  to-morrow  ?  " 

"Not  to-morrow.  Saturday  all  day, 
if  you  like." 

"Is  it  a  sweetheart  that  makes  you  so 
inflexible? " 

"  Sweethearts,  —  yes." 

"  I  cannot  make  head  or  tail  of  the 
fellow,"  said  the  sculptor  to  his  friend. 

"  At  all  events,  you  are  making  a  glo- 
rious Siegfried  of  him." 

The  two  studied  the  wet  clay  in  silence 
for  some  time,  pacing  solemnly  round  it, 
hands  behind  them,  chins  in  the  air. 

"It's  great." 

"  Well,"  the  artist  returned,  drawing  a 
15 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

deep  breath  and  smiling,  "at  least  it's 
the  best  I  've  done  yet.  I  'm  supersti- 
tious about  it,"  he  added,  covering  it 
with  a  damp  cloth.  "  I  scarcely  dare 
look  at  it  when  Michel's  not  here.  I 
posed  him  several  times.  No  good. 
'  How  's  this  ? '  he  asked  suddenly. 
'  Don't  budge  for  your  life ! '  I  cried,  and 
worked  like  a  madman.  It 's  a  superb 
body  the  queer  fellow 's  got." 

"  But  a  bee  in  his  bonnet." 

"  If  he  is  half-witted,  I  wish  I  had  the 
other  half.  That  is  why  I  tell  you  I 
don't  know  what  to  make  of  him.  You 
meet  him  in  the  street,  where  he  wears, 
for  reasons  of  his  own,  a  foolish  counte- 
nance. What  of  that  ?  Do  not  even  the 
pillars  of  society  the  same,  and  never  sus- 
pect it  ?  Here,  hour  after  hour,  though 
he  is  silent  and  keeps  a  wonderfully 
straight  face,  the  spirit  of  the  man  speaks. 
He  simply  cannot  disguise  intelligence 
and  education.  I  'd  swear  he  knows  the 
meaning  of  everything  here,  of  all  our 
talk  and  traps.  He  likes  it.  He  knows 
authors.  The  other  day,  I  caught  in  the 
mirror  there  his  quick  smile  as  some  of 
16 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

us  were  quarreling  over  a  quotation  from 
Pindar,  —  Leo  mangling  it  awfully,  and 
old  Arnim  spouting  Greek  like  a  school- 
boy. The  man  's  a  gentleman,  or  I  'm 
daft.  The  first  day  he  posed  he  did  n't 
like  it,  you  know,  and  he  hated  the 
money  for  it.  I  cannot  explain  why,  but 
when  he  got  up  there  stripped,  and 
turned  his  eyes  on  me,  I  had  a  vision  of 
a  soldier  marched  out  to  be  shot  by  his 
comrades." 

"  Oh,  come,  you  are  fanciful !  Of 
course  he  gathers  up  the  crumbs  that 
fall  from  your  table.  He  continually 
hears  the  art-chatter  of  you  men  here. 
But  you  are  off  the  scent,  I  assure  you. 
You  are  not  yet  acquainted  with  all  our 
landmarks.  Marigold-Michel  is  a  public 
character,  who  has  been  roaming  about 
here  ten  or  fifteen  years  ;  twenty,  for  all 
I  know  to  the  contrary.  Children  adore 
him.  He  's  a  sort  of  Pied  Piper  minus 
the  pipe.  Always  looks  the  same.  No- 
body knows  his  age.  But  he  's  a  bit  gray 
at  the  temples,  I  noticed  to-day." 

"On   one   side   only.     He   may   have 
been  that  at  twenty." 
17 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

"  Well,  my  dear  fellow,  he  may  be  less 
foolish  than  he  acts,  I  grant  you ;  al- 
though I  incline  to  the  current  belief  in 
his  silliness,  he  does  get  himself  up  so 
like  a  male  travesty  of  Ophelia,  don't  you 
know  ? " 

"  He 's  a  better  dressed  man  than  you 
or  I." 

The  other  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"If  you  mount  that  hobby,  I  yield  at 
discretion.  But  anyhow  he 's  a  simple 
rustic :  you  cannot  rout  me  on  that 
point." 

"  It  is  possible  you  are  right,"  returned 
the  sculptor,  lighting  another  cigarette ; 
"  but  then,  you  see,  I  know  better.  How- 
ever, since  he  elects  to  travel  incognito, 
I  shall  be  precious  careful  to  respect  his 
whim." 

"  Yes,  for  either  there  is  nothing  be- 
hind the  mask,  or  something  monstrously 
unsavory." 

"Exactly.  Whereas  my  model,  Mi- 
chel the  marvelous,  Michel  the  magnifi- 
cent "  - 

"  Non    olet!"    suggested    the   other, 
smiling.     "  Suppose  we  go  to  lunch." 
18 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

Meanwhile,  Michel  was  passed  along 
with  due  ceremony  by  liveried  servants 
through  the  courtyard,  portals,  stairways, 
and  corridors  of  a  palace.  These  men, 
although,  being  the  lackeys  of  a  duke, 
very  great  men  indeed,  were  less  haughty 
to  Michel  than  to  small  tradespeople  and 
such  trash.  The  ducal  retainers  even 
smiled  upon  him,  with  a  certain  contemp- 
tuous tolerance  of  his  vagaries.  Men 
growing  rotund  upon  the  bread  and  beer 
of  idleness,  and  displaying  the  splendors 
of  scarlet  and  gold  raiment  and  opulent 
calves,  naturally  found  Michel's  costume 
ludicrous,  and  his  habit  of  tramping  over 
hill  and  dale  fatuity.  Still,  he  too  was 
a  sort  of  vassal  of  the  palace.  At  all 
events,  he  came  often  and  was  always 
admitted.  Then  he  could  do  an  obli- 
ging thing  for  one,  as  many  of  them 
knew  from  experience.  So  the  languid 
great  men  were  not  more  than  pheno- 
menally insolent,  as  Michel  was  announced 
along  the  line  and  advanced  in  proper 
form  from  pillar  to  post,  until  he  stood 
on  the  threshold  of  a  large  and  some- 
what darkened  room,  —  where  from  a 
19 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

cot-bed  a  long,  "  Ah  ! "  of  intense  relief 
greeted  him,  and  a  child's  voice,  sharp 
and  imperious,  cried,  "  Everybody  go  ex- 
cept Michel !  " 

A  nurse,  a  maid,  and  a  man  obediently 
stole  out. 

"  Where  you  left  off  !  "  commanded 
the  small  pale  tyrant.  "Begin  exactly 
where  you  left  off,  Michel !  " 


II 

"  So  the  King  and  his  fifty  glittering 
knights  rode  ever  on  and  on,  day  after 
day,  month  after  month,  in  the  Strange 
Country,"  began  Michel,  advancing  slowly 
down  the  long  room,  his  green  leaves  nod- 
ding, his  marigolds  and  bright  hair  shin- 
ing, as  he  crossed  some  fugitive  sunbeam 
that  stole  in  despite  Venetian  blinds  and 
draperies.  Smiling,  moving  very  slowly, 
telling  the  tale  as  if  born  for  the  purpose, 
he  came  on,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  child, 
who,  with  the  habitual  frown  of  pain  on 
his  forehead  and  drawn  lines  of  pain 
about  his  mouth,  watched  breathless,  ex- 
ultant —  "  in  the  Strange  Country,  which 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

became  ever  stranger.  The  trees  and  the 
grass  were  sapphire  blue.  The  birds  were 
snow  white,  marvelous  in  song,  and  not 
one  was  smaller  than  an  eagle.  Voices 
called,  one  knew  not  from  whence,  in 
words  no  man  had  ever  heard.  Jewels 
grew  on  stalks,  and  the  knights,  as  you 
may  believe,  were  not  too  proud  to  fill 
their  pockets.  But  as  all  the  streams  ran 
molten  silver,  and  the  noble  company, 
having  ridden  far  without  resting,  were 
consumed  with  thirst,  and  ready,  man 
and  beast,  to  drop  from* weariness,  even 
diamonds  and  rubies  as  big  as  your  fist 
began  to  pall  upon  them,  and  they  would 
have  given  all  that  they  possessed  for  a 
cup  of  cold  water.  Encircling  the  vast 
plain  loomed  the  blood-red  smoking  moun- 
tains of  the  Strange  Country,  and  as  yet 
was  no  sign  of  a  town  or  any  human  habi- 
tation. So  the  knights  were  despondent, 
and  the  King  no  less,  but  no  man  uttered 
his  thought. 

"  Presently  they  heard  a  delicious 
splashing.  Hastening  past  a  luxuriant 
mass  of  beautiful  aluminum  shrubbery, 
to  their  exceeding  joy  they  discovered  a 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

fountain  of  purest  water  playing  into  a 
tiny  lake. 

"As  quick  as  a  flash  the  king's  cup- 
bearer whipped  out  his  tray  and  golden 
cup. 

"'Nay,  lad,'  quoth  the  King,  'rather 
thus!'  Promptly  kneeling  upon  his 
royal  knees,  he  drank  with  his  kingly 
lips  from  the  refreshing  stream,  thereby 
proving  what  an  exceptionally  clever  and 
enlightened  monarch  he  was,  while  the 
fifty  glittering  knights  stood  in  a  row 
with  courtly  mien,  each  wishing  for  all 
he  was  worth  that  his  Majesty  would  be 
quick  about  it. 

"  But  when  the  King  had  drunk  copi- 
ously, thoroughly  quenched  his  thirst, 
and  would  fain  withdraw  his  august  head, 
he  found  that  his  great  beard,  five  and  a 
half  feet  long,  was  clutched  and  held 
immovable  in  the  water  by  hands  that 
seemed  to  weigh  a  ton,  and  a  voice  from 
the  depths  cried  :  — 

" '  You  are  in  my  power,  O  King,  and 
the  swords  of  your  knights  are  naught 
against  my  spells.  Speak  not  to  them. 
If  you  call,  they  will  immediately  be- 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

come  aluminum.  There  they  will  stand, 
and  here  you  will  remain,  until  you  ac- 
cede to  the  request  I  shall  shortly  make, 
as  soon  as  I  think  you  able  to  bear  it.' 

"Now  only  a  king  with  a  beard  five 
and  a  half  feet  long,  the  pride  of  the 
kingdom,  can  appreciate  the  subtle  awk- 
wardness of  this  situation ;  not  to  men- 
tion the  obvious  indignity  of  having  one's 
royal  mane  pulled  at  all,  and  the  em- 
barrassing consciousness  that  fifty  good 
knights  and  true  are  thirstily  drawn  up 
on  the  shore,  and  etiquette  forbids  them 
to  cool  their  parched  throats  and  those 
of  their  red  roan  and  piebald  steeds,  until 
the  sacred  person  of  royalty  rises  from 
its  knees  and  gives  them  a  chance. 

"  '  Listen,  O  King,'  said  the  awful  gur- 
gle in  the  depths.  '  I  will  release  you 
upon  one  sole,  single,  and  solitary  condi- 
tion. You  will  pledge  your  sovereign 
word  that  on  your  return  to  your  own 
realm,  to  your  people,  your  palace,  and 
your  queen,  you  will '"  — 

Across  Michel's  mouth  the  child  sud- 
denly    clapped     his     hand,    exclaiming, 
"Time 'sup!     Halt!" 
23 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

The  tale  stopped  short.  The  boy 
closed  his  eyes  and  sighed.  "  Oh,  Mi- 
chel, nobody 's  got  any  sense  but  you." 

Michel  inspected  him  closely  and  said 
nothing. 

The  child  seized  the  rustic  hat  and 
patted  the  marigolds.  "  Nice  !  "  he  mur- 
mured. His  gaze  wandered  with  gloat- 
ing delight  over  the  details  of  the  man's 
costume.  "  The  others  bore  me  so.  They 
are  all  idiots,  except  mamma.  I  say, 
Michel,  how  long  could  you  rattle  on  like 
that  —  miles  ?  " 

Michel  laughed.  "  Like  that  ?  Well, 
yes,  I  rather  think  so." 

"  Some  time  I  '11  try  you  a  whole  day." 

"  All  right.  In  the  woods.  But  there 
we  '11  have  better  things  to  do  than  to  spin 
that  rubbish." 

"  It  is  rubbish  if  you  hear  a  lot,"  the 
boy  remarked  dispassionately. 

"  I  should  say  so." 

"  But  a  little  of  it  is  nice,  and  I  stopped 
you  at  exactly  the  right  place.  For  I 
shall  be  wondering  until  next  time  what 
old  Gurgle  was  going  to  make  King  Long- 
beard  promise.  So  I  shall  enjoy  it  three 
24 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

times,  don't  you  see?  —  now,  and  next 
time,  and  all  the  time  between." 

"  Little  sybarite !  " 

"  I  know  what  that  means." 

"  You  know  a  lot  too  much.  Wait  till 
I  get  you  in  the  woods  ten  miles  from 
your  books." 

"  Ah,  Michel,  the  woods  !  But  in  this 
stupid  place  a  fellow  has  to  read,  you 
know." 

"Such  awfully  old  books  for  such  a 
little  man." 

"  Wait,  Michel !  "  cried  the  boy  eagerly. 
"  How  would  you  account  for  this  ?  Solon 
said,  Call  no  man  happy  till  he  dies.  But 
Socrates  said,  No  harm  can  befall  the 
truly  wise  man.  Now,  I  think  Solon 
was  a  coward  and  afraid  of  life,  and  Soc- 
rates was  brave  :  and  that  is  how  I  ac- 
count for  it,  Michel,  don't  you  see  ! " 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  said  Michel  gravely. 

The  child's  hands  strayed  like  a  baby's 
over  his  big  friend's  face,  patting  it,  pull- 
ing and  remodeling. 

"  I  say,  Michel,  why  don't  you  wax 
the  ends  of  your  mustache,  like  papa  ? 
Would  n't  you  be  a  guy !  No,  don't. 
25 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

Don't  do  a  single  thing  different.  Just 
stay  so,  Michel,  exactly  as  you  are,  your 
hair,  your  clothes,  and  all  of  you,  do  you 
hear?" 

"  All  right,  my  Lord  Duke.  I  '11  not 
budge  an  inch,  I  promise  you,  from  the 
ways  I  find  most  comfortable." 

"  Michel,"  demanded  the  boy,  with  a 
sudden  gleam  of  malice  on  his  sensitive, 
mobile,  and  far  too  clever  face,  "  how  do 
you  know  anything  about  Socrates  and 
Solon  ? " 

"  Oh,  that  amount  of  wisdom  one  can 
buy  for  a  penny  at  the  first  bookstall." 

"Why  do  you  speak  peasant  dialect 
before  the  servants,  and  like  a  gentleman 
when  you  are  alone  with  me  ? " 

"Do  I  ? "  asked  Michel  placidly. 

"  Michel,  you  are  a  gentleman ! "  ex- 
claimed the  boy  triumphantly. 

"  Oh,  come,  now,  Azor !  Do  I  like 
you  because  you  are  his  Gracelessness 
the  little  Duke  of  Spitzfels-Hochstberg- 
Aussicht-uber-Alles  ?  " 

"  Oh,  what  a  funny  name  !  It  does 
sound  like  ours,  though,"  laughed  Azor. 

"  Or  because  you  happen  to  be  a  little 
26 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

chap  I  like  ?  And  suppose  I  were  the, 
Emperor  of  Japan  in  disguise,  would  you 
like  me  better  ?  " 

"  I  could  n't  like  you  any  better,  Mi- 
chel," Azor  answered,  with  extreme  sim- 
plicity and  sweetness.  "  I  like  you  best 
—  except  mamma." 

"Besides"  — 

"Well?"  the  boy  said  sharply,  divin- 
ing Michel's  thought. 

Smiling,  tender,  ironical,  boundlessly 
indulgent,  the  big  man  continued,  — 
"There's  no  possible  doubt  that  Kon- 
stantin  Albrecht  Azor  Karl  Eugen'is  a 
gentleman,  I  presume  ?  " 

"  No,"  returned  the  little  duke  haugh- 
tily. 

"And  you  and  I  are  friends,  are  we 
not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Michel." 

"Well,  then." 

The  boy's  eyelids  drooped  an  instant. 
Presently  he  looked  up  into  the  face 
bending  over  him  and  said  peevishly, 
"You  are  awfully  unkind  not  to  come 
here  and  live." 

"  I  could  not,  dear  boy.  I  have  ex- 
27 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

plained  that  before.  I  have  other  things 
to  do  and  other  people  to  see." 

"  Other  boys  with  hips  ?  "  asked  Azor 
jealously. 

"  No.  Besides,  if  I  were  always  here, 
you  'd  not  like  me  as  well.  You  'd  get 
tired  of  me." 

"  Mamma  is  always  here." 

"  Your  mamma  is  a  most  lovely  lady." 

"And  you  are  Marigold-Michel !  " 

"  But  you  'd  not  get  tired  of  me  in 
the  woods,  little  man.  That  I  promise. 
When  once  they  let  you  come,  when  once 
you  are  well  enough." 

"  I  've  waited  so  long,"  wailed  Azor. 
"  I  'm  always  waiting.  I  'm  dead  tired 
of  everything  —  except  mamma.  I  hate 
this  nasty  room;  I  hate  to  be  carried 
about  the  garden  in  an  old  box  in  a  foot- 
man's arms  ;  I  hate  to  drive  in  the  stupid 
park.  Oh,  I  do  want  to  go  and  live  in 
the  woods  with  you !  Oh,  dear !  Oh, 
dear ! "  he  moaned,  all  his  precocious 
wisdom  fled. 

"  You  are  very  tired  to-day,  my  poor 
little  Azor.  You  slept  badly,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  I  would  n't  let  nurse  know. 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

I  hate  her  fussing  and  her  horrid-tasting 
things.  Oh,  how  they  all  bother !  I  hate 
the  whole  business.  It  is  so  slow,  Michel ! 
It  is  so  nasty  to  live  in  a  box !  " 

His  slight  hands  fluttered  restlessly. 
Michel  took  them  in  his  quiet  grasp  and 
leaned  close  to  the  child. 

"  Look  in  my  eyes,  Azor,  and  listen," 
said  the  strong  man's  low,  loving  voice. 
"  Look  straight  in  my  eyes.  There  is  a 
place  in  the  woods  where  some  day  you 
shall  be.  The  way  is  steep  and  there  is 
no  path.  It  is  a  hidden  place,  only  for 
you  and  me.  But  I  will  carry  you  softly 
in  my  arms  and  nothing  shall  harm  you, 
and  you  shall  lie  in  a  hammock  under  a 
great  beech-tree,  and  squirrels  will  come 
and  throw  bits  of  bark  at  you  and  scam- 
per off  and  chatter.  It  is  a  cool,  green 
place.  Its  name  is  Azor's  Camp.  The 
sunshine  flickers  down  in  patches  on  vel- 
vety warm  moss  where  last  year's  nuts 
are  beginning  to  grow  tails  and  two  little 
ears  in  front.  All  day  long  you  can  watch 
the  birds.  There  are  oaks  centuries  old, 
a  big  solemn  fir  now  and  then,  and  lovely 
white  stems  scattered  about.  Out  be- 
29 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

yond  in  the  heather  are  hares  sitting  on 
their  haunches,  and  looking  as  wise  as  the 
School  Board.  Sometimes  a  deer  will 
point  his  nose  at  you  and  wonder  what 
sort  of  queer  new  animal  you  are. 

"Down  below  is  a  wet,  shady  place 
where  my  marigolds  grow,  among  long 
grasses,  reeds  and  rushes,  and  Solomon's 
seal  stretches  up  ever  so  high.  You 
shall  weave  a  hat  and  a  basket  like  mine. 
And  I  will  fetch  you  lizards  and  flat- 
headed  salamanders  with  very  wriggly 
tails,  and  little  toads  speckled  orange  and 
blue,  and  wee  bright  green  baby-frogs. 
There  are  splendid  bright  green  beetles 
too,  hundreds  of  them,  and  daddy-long- 
legs ;  and  beautiful  spiders  with  crosses 
on  their  backs  will  take  impertinent 
walks  on  you  and  tickle  your  nose,  and 
never  so  much  as  say,  '  By  your  leave, 
Azor.'  The  air  is  warm  and  the  breeze 
is  cool,  and  it 's  all  fragrant  and  silent 
and  full  of  murmurs  —  exactly  as  you 
love  it  best.  A  little  rill  comes  tumbling 
over  steep  rocks,  and  lulls  you  with  many 
voices  when  you  wish  to  sleep.  Under 
all  the  bending  ferns,  among  the  dead 
3° 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

oak  leaves  of  last  year,  are  innumerable 
little  shy  things  rustling,  and  I  will  tell 
you  stories  about  them  from  morning  till 
night,  —  how  they  live  and  work  and 
play.  Whatever  I  know  I  '11  tell  you. 
There's  not  a  thing  in  the  woods,  not 
a  leaf,  not  an  insect,  that  has  not  its 
story.  And  if  you  watch  them  and  love 
them,  they  will  tell  you  their  stories  them- 
selves, and  that  is  the  best  of  all.  The 
main  thing  is  to  love  them.  They  do  the 
rest." 

The  little  hands  were  tranquil.  On 
the  wan  face  was  restfulness.  With  a 
rapt  smile  the  child  gazed  straight  into 
the  clear  eyes  that  held  him  in  thrall. 
Health,  strength,  serenity — the  living 
breath  of  the  woods  —  had  subtly  en- 
compassed his  frail  being  with  brief  but 
potent  blessing.  He  basked  in  the  gen- 
erous sunshine  of  the  man's  presence. 
Michel's  calm,  controlling  hands,  his  blue 
eyes  smiling  steadily,  never  varied,  and 
the  low  voice  ran  on  ceaselessly  :  — 

"When  they  begin  to  tell  you  their 
stories,  old  Solon  and  Socrates  can  take 
a  back  seat.  Azor's  library  will  be  full 
31 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

to  bursting  without  those  gentlemen.  I 
never  could  tell  you  the  distinguished 
names  of  all  your  authors  and  their 
works  :  — 

"The  History  of  the  Ant  Republic; 
The  Glorious  Reign  of  her  Majesty, 
Queen  Bee;  Butterfly's  Intimations  of 
Immortality  ;  The  Ascent  of  the  Acorn  ; 
The  Commonwealth  of  Frogs ;  Carols  by 
A  Lark  and  Wood  Thrush,  M.  A.,  and 
Principles  of  Harmony  by  Signor  Black- 
bird ;  The  Rise  and  Fall  of  Dewdrops  ; 
Nightingale  on  Love  and  Breeze  on  Lib- 
erty ;  Brook's  Voyages  and  Adventures  ; 
The  Tail  of  a  Tadpole ;  Anemone's  Se- 
cret ;  Wild  Rose  and  her  Wooers  ;  Owls' 
Night-Thoughts ;  The  Emancipation  of 
Miss  Moss  ;  Reincarnation,  by  Lizardius, 
F.  R.  S.,  and  The  Mystery  of  Wings, 
both  published  by  the  Soaraway  Soci- 
ety; Bullfrog's  Commentaries;  Bunny's 
Pilgrim's  Progress,  and  Fox's  Martyrs ; 
Black  Beetles'  Digest ;  Snakes'  Lives ; 
Cuckoo's  Essays  on  Domesticity ;  Dr. 
Snail,  D.  D.,  on  Races  ;  and  Urwald's 
Architecture. 

"The  beauty  of  these  books  is  they 
32 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

have  no  horrid  little  black  letters  that 
spoil  one's  eyes,  but  voices  that  will  speak 
sweetly  to  my  little  Azor,  and  tell  him 
lovely  stories  in  the  cool  greenness  of 
the  place  in  the  woods  that  is  only  for 
Azor  and  me.  Everything  will  tell  its 
tale :  the  swarms  of  insects,  the  flick- 
ering patches  of  sunlight,  the  patter  of 
millions  of  leaves,  the  ceaseless  trickling 
of  the  brook,  and  all  the  sleepy,  droning 
tones  from  far  and  near  in  the  warm 
summer  noon  that  is  yet  silent  and  cool 
and  restful  in  the  heart  of  the  great 
woods.  For  the  myriad  murmuring 
leaves,  and  innumerable  fluttering  wings, 
and  legions  of  humming  buzzing  things, 
and  the  sweet  breath  of  earth  —  and 
ferns  —  and  breeze  —  and  —  trees  "  — 

Michel's  voice  became  lower  —  slower 
—  ceased.  He  waited  awhile,  rose  noise- 
lessly. Azor's  dark  lashes  swept  his 
sunken  cheeks.  The  broad  eyelids  had 
begun  to  droop  in  happy  languor  long 
before,  had  opened,  closed,  and  fluttered 
drowsily ;  the  flexible  mouth  had  smiled 
faintly  but  a  moment  gone.  Now  he  was 
sleeping  profoundly. 
33 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

As  Michel  went  out,  the  nurse  at  the 
door  stole  in.  A  valet  informed  him  as 
usual  that  the  duchess  desired  to  speak 
with  him.  To-day,  instead  of  his  stereo- 
typed answer  that  he  "  could  n't  stop," 
he  intimated  in  shy,  rustic  fashion  that 
he  "didn't  mind." 

Shown  into  the  presence  of  her  Grace, 
he  bowed  gravely  and  stood  by  the  door, 
hat  in  hand,  his  oak  leaves  trailing. 
Neither  the  old  crone  nor  the  peasant, 
neither  the  sculptor  nor  little  Azor,  had 
ever  seen  Marigold-Michel  bear  himself 
with  this  fine  deference. 

For  some  minutes  after  the  door  closed 
there  was  no  sound  or  movement  in  the 
room. 


Ill 

"  Guido,"  began  the  lady,  hardly  above 
her  breath. 

He  merely  looked  at  her. 

She  rose  and  came  forward  a  few  steps, 
a  slight  small  woman  with  Azor's  eyes. 
"  Ah,  Guido  !  "  she  faltered. 

"The  youth    Guido   is  dead,"  he  an- 

34 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

swered  gently.  "  I  read  his  death  in  the 
papers  years  ago.  They  said  he  died  in 
India." 

"Is  it  worth  while  to  speak  so  to 
me  ?  "  she  said,  trembling.  "  Do  you 
imagine  you  deceived  me  for  one  mo- 
ment ?  Did  I  not  know  you  were  inno- 
cent ?  Could  I  doubt  you  a  second  in 
spite  of  all  you  did  to  prove  yourself 
guilty  ?  So  mad  —  so  good  —  so  glori- 
ous —  so  unheard  of  —  so  senseless  —  so 
like  you,  Guido  !  " 

Over  his  face  flashed  the  sudden  light 
of  great  joy.  "Madam,"  he  returned 
quietly,  "  I  could  almost  at  this  moment 
wish  it  were  possible  for  me  to  have  the 
honor  to  receive  your  commands  in  my 
castle,  where  are  neither  doors  nor  ser- 
vants,—  not  for  the  sake  of  the  youth 
Guido,  since  he  is  dead  and  nothing  can 
harm  him,  but  on  account  of  all  who 
were  dear  to  him  years  ago." 

"  No  one  will  hear.  I  have  given  or- 
ders we  are  not  to  be  disturbed.  Was 
it  well  to  let  me  wait  years  to  tell  you 
I  understood  ?  Why,  if  it  were  not  for 
my  poor  little  Azor's  whim,  I  might  never 
35 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

have  been  able  to  speak  with  you  at  all. 
And  why  only  to-day  ?  Why  not  months 
ago,  Guido  ? " 

"  Your  Grace  will  pardon  me.  I  ven- 
ture to  present  myself  to-day  to  entreat 
a  special  favor." 

"  Ah,"  she  said  most  sorrowfully,  "  not 
even  now  because  you  wanted  to  speak 
with  me  ?  "  She  sat  down,  looked  at  him 
drearily,  covered  her  face  with  her  hands, 
and  dropped  her  head  on  a  table. 

Michel  stood  a  few  moments  irreso- 
lute before  he  crossed  the  room  and  said, 
"  Forgive  me,  Erika." 

She  wept  on  softly.  At  last  she  mur- 
mured :  "  Tears  are  rare  with  me.  But 
it  is  all  so  utterly  hopeless."  Turning 
toward  him  abruptly,  "The  favor.  Let 
us  get  it  out  of  the  way,  for  we  two  have 
long  accounts  to  settle." 

"  Two  favors,  indeed.  First  the  child 
Azor.  May  I  interfere  ? " 

"You?     All  you  like." 

"  Ought  he  not  to  have  more  air  ?  Is 
he  not  too  cooped  up  ? " 

"Of  course.  He  ought  to  live  out- 
doors from  morning  till  night.  How  can 
36 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

I  manage  it  in  town,  and  with  the  sort  of 
life  I  lead  ?  I  am  going  off  with  him. 
Konstantin  has  at  last  consented.  The 
doctors  say  Azor  must  follow  the  sun- 
shine round  the  world." 

"  Bravo !  Then  I  need  say  no  more. 
I  had  designs  on  the  boy.  When  you 
return  and  he  is  stronger,  if  you  could 
trust  him  to  me  for  a  while,  I  dare  to 
believe  you  would  never  repent  it." 

"  I  would  have  trusted  him  to  Gui- 
do." 

"Trust  Michel  no  less,"  he  replied 
quietly.  "  The  other  favor  is  this.  A 
word  from  the  duke,  if  that  were  possi- 
ble, would,  I  suppose,  induce  the  proper 
authorities,  whoever  they  may  be,  to  per- 
mit me  to  see  a  young  fellow  in  prison. 
Appearances  are  against  him,  and  he  is 
obstinately  silent.  I  am  sure  he  is  inno- 
cent, and  I  think  he  would  speak  freely 
to  me.  It  is  a  pity  for  him  "  — 

"To  sacrifice  himself  outright?  I 
agree,  Guido.  Let  us  save  him,  by  all 
means.  Why  should  silly  boys  insist 
upon  self  -  destruction  ?  Give  me  his 
name  and  the  necessary  facts." 
37 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

Having  written  a  few  words,  she  rang 
for  a  servant. 

"  Konstantin  is  in  his  study,  I  believe. 
He  will  be  eager  to  do,  not  this,  but  a 
real  service  for  you.  He  often  speaks 
of  your  devotion  to  our  boy,  and  your 
strange  reluctance  to  meet  us." 

Replying  to  the  sudden  question  in 
Michel's  eyes,  "  No,  Guido,"  she  contin- 
ued, "  I  have  never  intimated  to  my  hus- 
band that  you  are  other  than  you  seem. 
I  have  respected  your  secret.  How 
could  I  do  otherwise  when  you  guarded 
it  so  jealously,  when  you  have  shunned 
me  all  these  years,  and  let  me  gaze  at 
you  with  a  great  heartache  as  you  walked 
the  streets  in  your  cap  and  bells  ?  How 
often  I  have  driven  past  you  and  longed 
to  stop  my  carriage  and  say,  'Guido, 
cousin,  playmate,  dear  old  friend,  best  of 
men,  come  up  where  you  belong,  come 
to  your  own '  !  But  you  went  flaunting 
by,  the  crowd  grinning.  It  is  incredi- 
ble !  It  is  heart-breaking  !  Don't  stand 
there,  Guido,  like  an  errand-boy,"  she 
exclaimed,  frowning.  "  It  is  distressing. 
It  annoys  me.  Sit  down." 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

"  It  is  better  so  till  the  calves-in-wait- 
ing have  returned,  is  it  not  ? "  he  sug- 
gested tranquilly. 

"  I  am  glad,"  he  said,  as  she  presently 
handed  him  a  cordially  worded  message 
from  the  duke.  "  I  thank  you.  I  had  no 
other  way.  I  know  one  man  of  influence 
here  who  would  befriend  me  in  need,  but 
I  cannot  see  him  to-day." 

"  Does  he  know  you  ?  " 

"He  may  suspect." 

"  But  is  discreet  ?  " 

"Perfectly." 

"  Ah,"  retorted  the  duchess  with  spirit, 
"  he  has  no  reason  to  intrude  !  He  never 
was  your  comrade,  your  other  self,  your 
shadow,  through  all  the  young,  happy 
years." 

"No,  little  Erika,  he  was  not." 

"  Sit  here  and  talk  to  me,  dear  Guido, 
now  that  I  have  you  at  last." 

"  If  I  may  talk  in  my  own  way,"  he 
said  simply,  and  went  on,  pausing  a  little 
between  his  sentences  :  "  It  is  not  easy 
to  bridge  over  the  years.  I  knew  it 
would  be  terribly  painful,  yet  I  could  not 
refuse  Azor.  I  knew  too,  of  course, 
39 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

coming  to  your  house,  that  this  meeting 
must  sooner  or  later  take  place.  I  could 
not  put  it  off  forever." 

"Well,"  she  said  impatiently,  "you 
did  very  nearly,  and  here  you  are,  tem- 
porizing." 

"  I  cannot  bear  to  pain  you,  Erika,  but 
for  the  past  there  is  no  explanation,  and 
I  have  lived  this  sort  of  life  so  long  "  - 
he  glanced  down  good-humoredly  at  his 
clothes —  "  it  really  seems  odd  to  me  that 
it  should  need  justification." 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  surprised  and  indig- 
nant, "  a  mountebank  !  You  !  " 

"Not  quite  that,"  he  returned  with 
gentleness. 

"  You,  with  your  talents,"  she  contin- 
ued bitterly,  "leading  this  utterly  wasted 
life  !  Forgive  me.  You  are  so  sweet  to 
Azor.  You  have  a  marvelous  influence 
over  him.  You  help  him  when  none  else 
can.  I  know  it.  I  feel  it.  But  how  for- 
gotten, how  ignoble  is  your  existence ! 
Ah,  when  I  look  back  !  Why,  there  was 
nothing  beyond  your  grasp.  What  a 
general  you  might  have  become,  what  a 
statesman ! " 

40 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

He  smiled.  "  I  am  not  of  much  use, 
I  admit,  but  upon  the  whole  I  do  little 
harm.  Perhaps  the  generals  and  the 
statesmen  cannot  always  say  as  much." 

"A  man  should  serve  his  country." 

"  I  am  totally  without  patriotism,"  he 
replied,  with  a  certain  sweetness  of  voice 
and  expression.  "  I  hold  it  to  be  a  gross 
error.  I  have  reverence  for  few  national 
or  social  rubrics.  But  I  '11  not  bore  you 
with  my  theories.  They  wax  strong  in 
solitude." 

"  Guido,  tell  me  this  :  when  you  are  not 
displaying  yourself  in  town  for  fools  to 
gape  at,  how  do  you  spend  your  days  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.     Doing  odd  jobs." 

"  What  sort  of  odd  jobs  ?  "  she  asked 
sharply. 

"Well,  I  mended  a  man's  roof  the 
other  day.  Don't  groan.  I  did  it  very 
well." 

"  They  say,"  her  face  expressed  repug- 
nance and  distress,  "  but  this  I  refuse  to 
believe,  — that  you  pose  for  artists." 

"  I  do  sometimes.     Why  not  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Guido !  oh,  Guido  ! " 

"I  wish  I  could  comfort  you,  Erika," 
41 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

he  said  very  kindly.  "  You  see,  I  think 
one  can  so  easily  do  worse  things.  If  I 
keep  my  body  wholesome  and  strong,  it 
seems  to  me  I  do  my  duty  by  it.  I  don't 
know  that  I  owe  it  any  special  obsequi- 
ousness." 

"  A  gentleman  born  "  — 

"  I  admit  I  had  some  scruples  at  first. 
It  is  odd  how  tenacious  certain  senti- 
ments are.  But  all  you  have  to  do  is  to 
change  your  point  of  view  and  shake  off 
a  few  husks.  I  assure  you  I  don't  mind 
it  an  atom  now." 

"  They  say  you  sleep  on  the  ground  in 
the  woods  or  in  a  cave;  at  any  rate,  like 
a  beast  of  the  field.  Is  that  true  too  ?  " 

"  Sigh  no  more,  lady,"  he  returned, 
with  a  laugh.  "  I  've  got  a  capital  little 
cabin,  originally  a  forester's  lodge,  which 
suits  me  perfectly.  It  is  not  a  large  es- 
tablishment. You  could  put  it  in  that 
bay  window.  But  it  's  really  got  a  bed 
in  it,  Erika;  oh,  dear,  yes,  a  most  re- 
spectable sort  of  bed,  which  I  greatly 
esteem  —  in  winter,  sometimes,  and  in 
long  storms.  But  I  confess,  at  the  risk 
of  your  displeasure,  I  have  a  graduated 
42 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

set  of  bunks  in  the  open,  —  nicely  ad- 
justed to  my  whims  and  the  Lord's  sea- 
sons, —  and  I  'd  be  more  explicit,  but 
you  'd  never  understand.  You  're  not 
educated  up  to  it.  You  see  I  am  terribly 
epicurean." 

It  was  true,  then,  all  true,  —  the  im- 
possible tales  people  told  of  Marigold- 
Michel  ;  yet  there  he  sat,  brown,  hand- 
some, superb  in  strength,  his  blue  eyes 
shining  with  mirth  as  in  the  old  days. 
He  had  spoken  in  the  old,  boyish,  jest- 
ing way.  His  voice  had  a  mellow,  con- 
tented ring.  The  tragedy  of  facts  seemed 
persistently  set  aside  by  his  comfortable 
unconcern.  It  was  stupendous,  but  she 
felt  herself  yielding,  against  knowledge 
and  conviction,  to  the  potent  cheerful- 
ness of  his  interpretation  of  things.  Not 
thus  had  she  pictured  this  interview. 

"  Guido,"  she  persisted,  "  tell  me,  how 
can  you  live  so  out  of  the  movement, 
with  no  refinements,  no  advantages,  no 
society  of  your  kind,  no  talk  of  the  day, 
no  politics,  no  art,  no  books  ?  Or  have 
you  books  ?  I  suppose  you  do  not  even 
read  the  papers  ?  " 

43 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

"  Papers  ?  Not  habitually,  thank  Hea- 
ven!" he  replied  devoutly.  "Books  I 
have,  —  not  many,  but  sufficient,  —  the 
masters.  After  all,  the  best  of  our  read- 
ing most  men  get  young,  and  then  we 
keep  mammaling  it  the  rest  of  our  lives, 
as  an  old  sailor  his  old  quid.  Still,  per- 
haps you  'd  not  be  quite  displeased  with 
me  in  that  one  respect,  Erika.  It  is 
not  difficult  in  this  electrical  year  of  our 
Lord  to  keep  somewhat  in  touch  with 
vital  things,  even  if  one  is  uninformed  by 
the  gossip  of  drawing-rooms  and  clubs. 
You  do  not  suspect  what  wisdom  is  in  the 
air,  on  the  road,  on  the  lips,  it  may  be, 
of  the  unknown  workingman  with  whom 
one  chances  to  walk  as  one  goes  home 
in  the  dusk.  Besides,  I  do  not  live  in  a 
desert,  but  near  a  large  town.  I  can  get 
what  I  want.  I  am  only  a  pinchbeck 
hermit,  you  see.  But  I  am  spared,  — 
oh,  such  a  lot  of  jibber-jabber  that  you 
have  to  put  up  with,  my  poor  little  duch- 
ess !  " 

"  I  believe  you,"  she  returned  wearily, 
with  a  strange  look.  After  a  long  si- 
lence she  resumed  :  "  There  are  many 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

detestable  social  functions,  I  admit ;  ma- 
chinery so  cumbersome,  arduous,  inexo- 
rable, soul-stifling,  that  I,  even  I  could 
comprehend  your  glee  in  being  able  to 
snap  your  fingers  at  it,  if  —  if  only  your 
mask  were  less  ignoble." 

"  Ah,  my  marigolds  !  " 

"Your  whole  position.  The  crucial 
step  once  taken,  your  great  renunciation 
made,  I  grasp  the  sad  necessity  of  self- 
effacement,  but  not  of  self-abasement,  not 
the  choice  of  your  low,  grotesque  garb 
and  clown-tricks." 

"  Is  it  so  bad  ?  "  In  his  smile  was  a 
wealth  of  affection  and  serenity.  "  See, 
Erika,  my  cap  and  bells  —  as  you  call 
them  —  give  me  the  right  of  way  every- 
where and  disarm  suspicion.  Dear  cou- 
sin, before  I  go  let  me  comfort  you  if  I 
can,  let  me  try  to  reconcile  you  to  my 
fate." 

"You  will  reconcile  me  to  nothing, 
Guido,  —  neither  to  your  insensate  mag- 
nificent self-immolation  nor  to  this  mot- 
ley anti-climax." 

"  Erika,"  he  pleaded,  "there  are  things 
you  say  which  it  is  impossible  for  me  to 
45 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

answer.  I  entreat  you  to  let  sleeping 
dogs  lie.  Let  me  talk  to  you  a  little 
about  the  evolution  of  the  cap  and  bells. 
Let  us  suppose,  merely  by  way  of  illus- 
tration, a  young  fellow  "  —  he  paused  an 
instant  —  "commits  some  sort  of  crime 
and  "  — 

"  Never  will  I  suppose  that  !  "  she 
broke  in  passionately.  "  Let  us  suppose 
instead  that  a  quixotic  boy  assumes  the 
onus  of  a  felony  committed  by  his  older 
brother.  Let  us  suppose  things  look 
most  ominous  for  the  older.  Suddenly 
the  younger  disappears  like  a  thief  in  the 
night.  He  too  had  access  to  the  room 
where  the  deeds  were.  '  This  is  guilt ! ' 
cry  the  wiseacres.  '  This  is  Guido/  says 
one  girl,  but  only  to  herself.  To  what 
end  speak  ?  To  whom  ?  When  did  she 
ever  reveal  any  prank  of  his  ?  His  mon- 
strous flight  throws  inquiry  off  the  scent. 
The  scandal  is  gradually  hushed  up  out 
of  consideration  for  so  old  and  influential 
a  family.  All  people  in  general  know  is 
that  there  was  some  mystery  about  a 
scapegrace  who  disappeared.  And  the 
much  respected  older  brother  lives  in 
46 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

peace  on  the  lands  of  his  forefathers; 
and  much  good  may  it  do  him,  for 
Philip  was  not  worth  so  much  love, 
Guido,  —  not  worth  heroism,  exile,  cru- 
cifixion like  yours  !  " 

"  Don't,  Erika !  "  exclaimed  the  lis- 
tener sternly.  "  He  was  always  a  good 
brother  to  me."  His  face  half  averted 
and  concealed  by  his  hand,  he  had  drunk 
in  every  word  thirstily,  though  once  or 
twice  he  had  sought  to  restrain  her  by 
word  or  gesture.  After  a  long  pause, 
"  In  the  hypothetical  case  under  dis- 
cussion," he  continued  imperturbably, 
"  it  is  immaterial  why  the  young  fellow 
finds  it  imperative  to  leave  home  sud- 
denly. The  point  is  he  goes  off.  An- 
other young  fellow  is  with  him,  ostensi- 
bly his  servant,  but  always  his  best  friend, 
—  a  gardener's  son  brought  up  with  him. 
The  boy  follows  without  permission ; 
gives  no  sign  until  it  is  too  late  to  send 
him  back." 

"Michel  always  worshiped  you,"  said 
the  duchess  softly. 

"Three  years  later  the  poor  lad  dies 
in  India,  and  is  buried  —  it  is  all  very 

.      47 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

simple,  you  see  —  under  the  name  of  the 
other  man,  who  is  not  much  of  a  fellow, 
for  after  the  death  of  his  companion  he 
grows  so  deadly  homesick  he  is  literally 
good  for  nothing,  and  droops  like  an 
anaemic  girl.  He  has  a  tremendous  ad- 
miration for  strong  men  who  can  orien- 
talize or  occidentalize  themselves  at  will, 
turn  sheik  or  cowboy,  and  carve  their 
way  anywhere.  But  he 's  not  that  sort. 
Lacks  character  or  something.  Finds  no 
rest,  pines  for  his  home,  cannot  recover 
his  strength.  You  see,  he  left  behind  — 
much  that  he  cared  for." 

"  Go  on,  dear  Guido,"  murmured  the 
duchess. 

"Well,  after  looking  about  in  pretty 
much  all  the  hemispheres  there  are,  he 
finally  sneaks  back  to  his  own  land,  to 
a  corner  of  it  where  he  is  unknown. 
Remember  he  is  legally  dead,  and  ap- 
pears under  the  name  and  papers  of  the 
dead  boy.  He  is  bound,  in  the  nature 
of  the  case,  to  lie  more  or  less  perdu 
forever.  He  has  always  loved  the  woods, 
and  naturally  enough  drifts  thither.  He 
does  a  good  turn  now  and  then  for  an 
48 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

old  forester,  and  wins  his  confidence. 
Slowly,  very  slowly  the  wanderer  learns 
to  shape  his  life  anew. 

"  But  a  serious  man  who  lives  alone 
in  the  woods  is  naturally  to  the  general 
public  a  suspicious  character,  planning 
the  assassination  of  monarchs  or  con- 
structing dynamite  bombs.  Ergo,  the 
cap  and  bells.  I  spare  you  obvious 
historical  examples,  but  trust  me,  judi- 
cious fooling  is  the  only  complete  dis- 
guise. For  some  occult  reason,  silliness 
—  the  '  childish-foolish '  — is  ingratiating  ; 
sense  repels.  What  if  the  man  looked 
wise,  studious,  or  even  respectable  ?  He 
could  not  escape  probing  and  embarrass- 
ment from  all  quarters.  As  it  is,  no 
mortal  enjoys  such  unbounded  freedom. 
Every  policeman  in  town  grins  at  him 
for  a  harmless  fool,  and  at  midnight  as  at 
high  noon  he  is  protected  by  the  bene- 
ficence of  his  mask." 

She  looked  at  him  thoughtfully.  "  Al- 
most you  persuade  me  you  are  happy." 

"I  am  content.     I  have  space." 

"  You  might  die  all  alone  up  there." 

"  Everybody  dies  alone." 
49 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

"It  is  marvelous,"  she  sighed. 

"And  you,"  he  said  gently,  after  a 
while,  "  are  you  happy,  Erika  ?  " 

"Oh,  Konstantin  is  very  considerate 
and  good,"  she  replied,  rather  indiffer- 
ently. "  He  is  always  much  occupied, 
of  course,  with  affairs  of  state.  We  see 
each  other  less  than  one  expects  before 
marriage.  Azor's  ill  health  is  a  great 
blow  to  his  father's  ambition."  Reply- 
ing to  his  slightly  elevated  eyebrows : 
"  Oh,  you  know  how  men  are,  what  they 
want.  It  is  natural  they  should  be  am- 
bitious, particularly  a  man  in  his  posi- 
tion. It  is  an  unfree,  artificial  world 
we  live  in.  We  all  are  forced  to  work 
and  strive  so  hard.  I  sometimes  ask 
myself  for  what.  Court  life  is  thank- 
less business.  My  only  real  happiness, 
strangely  enough,  my  little  ill  boy  gives 
me." 

Michel  was  silent,  smiling  faintly,  his 
eyes  regarding  her  thoughtfully.  Pre- 
sently he  asked,  "  And  your  brothers  ? 
Jolly  little  beggars,  how  have  they  turned 
out  ? " 

"  It  is  certainly  not  their  fault  that 
5° 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

they  are  not  beggars  in  earnest,"  she 
answered  dryly.  "Papa  storms  periodi- 
cally, and  calls  upon  the  gods  to  witness 
he  '11  not  put  up  with  this  sort  of  thing 
a  day  longer,  then  pays  their  bills  like  a 
holy  martyr.  Oh,  they  are  not  bad 
fellows ;  only  a  little  selfish  and  ter- 
ribly gay,  like  all  their  set.  When  cav- 
alry lieutenants  dine,  and  play,  and 
keep  racers  - —  Well,  you  know  how  it 
is." 

"Yes,  I  know." 

Michel  paced  the  room  once  or  twice 
before  asking,  rather  low,  "Are  Philip 
and  Aline  happy  ?  " 

"In  their  own  way.  They  jog  along 
together  pretty  much  like  the  rest  of  the 
world." 

His  look  was  still  wistful. 

"They  have  three  fine  boys  and  a 
charming  little  girl." 

"Thank  God,"  he  broke  out,  "there's 
life  and  laughter  still  on  the  old  place !  " 
And  his  jubilant  heart  sang  :  "  For  them 
—  it  was  for  those  children  —  even  then, 
and  in  all  dark  hours,  though  I  knew  it 
not  —  for  them !  " 

S1 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

"  Philip  has  named  his  last  boy 
Guido,"  she  said  suddenly,  and  wondered 
at  Michel's  face,  touched,  grateful,  and 
strangely  illumined. 

Still  transfigured,  he  approached  with 
extended  hand. 

"  You  are  not  going  ?  " 

"I  must." 

"  But  you  will  come  again  ?  Surely, 
Guido ! " 

"  When  you  consider,"  he  said  gently, 
"you  will  see  it  is  inexpedient.  From 
this  time  let  me  be  only  Marigold-Michel. 
I  beg,  dear  Erika,  I  implore  you." 

She  hesitated  long,  deeply  agitated. 
"  But  if  you  should  need  me  "  — 

"  For  myself  or  another,  I  will  let  you 
know.  If  you  need  me,  you  have  but  to 
command." 

"  Oh,  Guido,"  she  said  as  they  stood 
hand  in  hand,  "  I  see  I  may  interfere 
with  the  strange  course  you  have  chosen 
no  more  than  with  the  orbit  of  a  planet. 
But  it  is  sad  to  say  farewell.  Still,  it  is 
better  than  before  you  came.  At  least, 
I  know  now  you  have  not  avoided  me 
from  want  of  affection." 
52 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

"  Never  that ! " 

"  You  dared  not  see  me  because  you 
dared  not  deny  your  innocence,"  she  de- 
clared with  sudden  vehemence.  "  You 
have  not  denied  it.  You  cannot  deny  it. 
You  can  do  all  the  rest,  but  you  cannot 
look  me  in  the  eyes  and  lie.  Thank 
God,  your  honor  is  spotless.  Thank 
God,  I  always  knew  it." 

He  breathed  deep  ;  across  his  face  flit- 
ted swift  reflections  of  varying  emotions, 
as  if  he  fain  would  respond  a  thousand 
things  to  her  sweet  turbulence,  yet  he 
merely  stooped  and  slowly  kissed  her 
hands,  and  said  in  his  kind  and  simple 
way:  — 

"  Little  Erika  was  always  a  loyal  lit- 
tle thing,"  and  in  answer  to  her  trou- 
bled gaze,  "  It  is  not  really  good-by.  I 
shall  always  come  to  Azor.  We  will 
make  him  a  strong  man  yet.  Some  time 
you  will  trust  him  to  me.  And  you  and 
I  are  always  at  heart  the  old  "  — 

"  Rascals  !  "  she  suggested,  smiling 
with  wet  eyes. 

"And  we  shall  see  each  other  now 
and  then,  if  only  to  pass  with  a  good 
53 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

thought  and  the  memories  that  will  al- 
ways live.  But  Guido  is  dead.  These 
marigolds  grew  on  his  grave.  There  is 
nothing  at  all  gloomy  about  them.  See 
how  gay  and  sunny  they  look.  Let  us 
never  mourn  or  resurrect  him  again. 
Now  give  Michel  one  good  word  before 
he  goes." 

"  It  is  inconceivable,  humiliating,"  she 
exclaimed,  between  a  sob  and  a  laugh, 
"  but  I  am  actually  beginning  to  like  Mi- 
chel and  his  marsh-marigolds  !  " 

"  Always  my  generous  little  Erika,  so 
straight  and  honest,  so  utterly  her  old 
self,  so  like  Azor !  Marigold-Michel 
thanks  you  from  his  heart  that  you  could 
say  that.  It  will  help  him  in  hours  when 
he  is  not  jingling  his  bells." 

"Ah,  such  hours  come !  " 

Again  he  bent  over  her  hands.  "  Fare- 
well, dear  little  duchess." 

"Farewell  —  Michel,"  she  faltered. 

"  Now  smile,  Serenissime ;  and  ring 
and  hand  me  over  to  the  tender  mercies 
of  the  calves." 

"  Show  Marigold-Michel  out,"  said  her 
Grace  languidly. 

54 


MARIGOLD-MICHEL 

Turning  away,  she  paid  no  further  at- 
tention to  the  tall  bright  figure  crossing 
the  room,  but  bent  over  a  bunch  of  yel- 
low flowers  lying  on  her  writing-table. 

55 


NO  CONTINUING  CITY 

\HEN  Emma  was  born  her  mo- 
ther was  rather  preoccupied.  In 
some  human,  as  in  feline  circles, 
a  birth  more  or  less  is  never  a  matter  of 
moment.  Besides,  Frau  Rupp  had  had 
eight  infants  already,  was  by  nature 
scatter-brained,  and  contemplated  moving 
to  Zurich.  Emma  was  wrapped  in  some- 
thing and  laid  aside  while  the  packing 
went  on.  She  appeared  in  no  respect 
agitated  by  her  new  environment.  A 
large  placidity  in  accepting  the  inevitable 
distinguished  her  from  first  to  last,  while 
the  unphilosophical  tendency  toward 
gourmandise —  her  unique  vice  —  evinced 
in  the  dawn  of  her  history,  marked  also 
its  brief  high  noon  and  nickering  twi- 
light. All  the  contrasts  of  a  checkered 
career  were  powerless  to  render  her 
other  than  consistent,  equable,  and  just. 
She  left  despair  to  smaller  minds. 
56 


NO   CONTINUING   CITY 

Frau  Rupp  happened  to  marry  about 
this  time,  thereby  changing  her  name  ; 
but  Rupp  will  be  retained  for  the  pur- 
poses of  this  narrative.  She  had  had 
already  two  or  three  husbands,  and  was 
never  particularly  engrossed  by  anything 
of  the  sort,  or  "careful  of  the  type." 
The  new  husband  was  about  to  establish 
himself  in  the  beer  and  grog  business 
in  Zurich,  whither  he  proceeded  shortly 
after  the  ceremony,  leaving  Frau  Rupp 
and  all  the  little  Rupplets  to  follow. 
The  contracting  parties  had  been  delayed 
slightly  by  Emma's  impending  entrance 
into  this  stage  of  being;  but,  once  an 
accomplished  fact,  she  was  but  a  minute 
obstacle  in  their  path,  and  Frau  Rupp's 
few  and  not  very  clean  possessions  were 
speedily  ready  for  the  emigration.  Emma 
blinked  and  said  nothing,  except  when 
her  inherent  gourmandise  triumphed 
briefly  over  her  habitual  serenity  of  man- 
ner. 

On  the  day  of  Frau  Rupp's  depar- 
ture her  cheeks  looked  glazed,  her  eyes 
unnaturally  brilliant,  and  her  utterance 
sounded  husky,  all  of  which  may  have 
57 


NO   CONTINUING   CITY 

been  due  to  fatigue  or  to  emotion  called 
forth  by  the  painful  necessity  of  bidding 
farewell  to  her  neighbors  in  the  Man- 
sard :  Lotte  Mez,  the  washerwoman  and 
house-cleaner  ;  Leni  and  Mina  the  fac- 
tory girls ;  the  Widow  Dugenhubel  and 
her  offspring ;  old  Daddy  Schanz,  who 
was  a  little  silly  but  could  still  read 
publishers'  proofs  ;  Granny  Schanz,  who 
could  not ;  and  the  consumptive  little 
chimney-sweep,  jolly  Nack  Nickerson, 
called  by  his  intimates  Nick  -  Nack. 
Happily  they  could  all  be  present,  for  the 
hour  appointed  for  the  exodus  was  early 
on  a  Sunday  morning,  so  that  Frau 
Rupp's  cousin  the  teamster  might,  un- 
impeded by  the  exactions  of  employers, 
place  himself  and  his  cart  at  her  disposal. 
Sympathetic  animation  pervaded  the 
Mansard.  Each  helped  after  his  own 
fashion.  Leni  and  Mina  skipped  up  and 
down  five  flights  to  fling  things  into  the 
cart  and  bold  jokes  at  the  inviting  driver. 
The  Widow  Dugenhubel  stood  at  her 
door  and  talked  solid  cubic  feet.  Old 
Daddy  Schanz  walked  about,  smiling 
feebly  and  rubbing  his  hands.  Nick- 
58 


NO   CONTINUING   CITY 

Nack,  having  emerged  from  his  cloud  of 
soot,  shone  upon  the  world  with  his  hand- 
some Sunday-face,  sat  upon  a  box,  and 
laughed  like  a  young  god.  Lotte  Mez 
quietly  did  three  quarters  of  the  work, 
while  Frau  Rupp  wept  in  a  confused 
maudlin  way  and  diligently  dropped  par- 
cels ;  but  this  may  have  been  due  to  over- 
powering regret.  The  available  Rupp 
children  —  the  older  ones  were  in  ser- 
vice, the  later-born  mostly  dead  —  obeyed 
Lotte  Mez's  orders  and  bore,  with  care- 
worn, anxious  little  faces,  the  burden  of 
responsibility  which  for  some  reason  or 
other,  was  slipping  more  and  more  from 
their  mother's  shoulders. 

Everything  was  collected  except  a  few 
straggling  parcels.  Frau  Rupp  took 
several  at  once  under  her  arm.  One  of 
them  was  Emma.  Making  Widow  Du- 
genhubel  ceremonious,  prolonged,  ex- 
haustive, emotional,  and  even  teary  adieux 
—  which  was  not  unnatural,  they  being 
very  old  neighbors  who  had  never  quar- 
reled beyond  human  capacity  —  Frau 
Rupp  dropped  one  of  her  encumbrances. 
It  was  not  Emma.  But  Lotte  Mez 
59 


NO   CONTINUING   CITY 

thought  it  might  have  been,  and  for  this 
and  other  reasons  said  abruptly  :  — 

"Why  not  leave  the  baby  here  until 
you  get  settled  ?  " 

The  cart  drove  off  without  Emma. 
Lotte  Mez,  the  washerwoman  and  house- 
cleaner,  took  no  airing  that  Sunday,  but 
sat  all  day  long  in  her  room,  old  memo- 
ries tugging  at  her  heart,  and  with  a 
strange  mixture  of  pain  and  bliss,  watched 
and  tended  a  feeble  mite,  breathing  in- 
deed, evidently  manifesting  no  prejudice 
against  life,  but  making  no  distinct  claims 
upon  it.  This  impartial  attitude  the 
child  never  abandoned.  It  was  an  un- 
christened  infant.  Frau  Rupp,  who  for- 
got most  things,  had  forgotten  to  think 
of  a  name  for  this  most  irrelevant  baby. 
Lotte,  with  hot  tears  and  shuddering 
stifled  sobs,  —  although  she  was  alone  in 
the  Mansard,  —  knelt  before  it  and  mur- 
mured Emma.  Five  and  twenty  years 
previous  had  appeared,  incidentally,  in 
her  own  life  just  such  a  soft  helpless 
thing.  It  had  lived  long  enough  to  stam- 
mer sweet  absurd  words,  and  laugh,  and 
be  adorable,  and  fill  its  mother's  life  with 
60 


NO   CONTINUING  CITY 

delight,  although  her  former  friends  no 
longer  spoke  to  her.  When  it  died  sud- 
denly, Lotte  left  her  home,  a  change  in 
all  respects  commendable  and  worldly 
wise.  She  was  now  forty-five  years  old, 
the  most  able,  conscientious,  and  re- 
spected of  her  profession,  had  her  circle 
of  regular  patrons  and  was  usually  en- 
gaged six  months  deep  —  a  rugged  wo- 
man, strong  as  a  man. 

The  exigencies  of  Lotte's  profession 
necessitated  days  at  home  and  days 
abroad.  On  the  latter,  Emma  was 
handed  over  to  Granny  Schanz  or  the 
Widow  Dugenhubel.  Some  babies  ob- 
ject, and  not  unreasonably,  to  constant 
changes  of  temperature,  milk,  method, 
and  handling.  Emma's  composure  re- 
mained unruffled.  The  multifariousness 
of  her  diet  would  have  destroyed  the  off- 
spring of  Titans.  During  the  first  weeks 
of  her  existence,  she  mouthed  meat, 
lapped  beer,  sucked  painted  sugar-birds 
—  Nick-Nack's  tribute  to  her  charms  — 
partook,  according  to  her  degree,  of 
saurkraut,  bits  of  raw  carrot,  cold  boiled 
potatoes  and  other  urgent  invitations  to 
61 


NO   CONTINUING   CITY 

colic,  —  and  survived.  Nay,  more,  she 
thrived  in  a  certain  sense,  for  although 
pallid  and  puny,  her  frail  organism  was 
less  addicted  to  unseemly  revolt  and  woe- 
ful spasms  than  is  ordinarily  the  most 
robust  and  pampered  heir  to  an  ancient 
name. 

Possessed  thus  of  rare  social  tact,  she 
was  the  pet  of  the  entire  population  of 
the  Mansard.  Leni  and  Mina,  when  not 
at  the  factory  or  running  about  with 
sweethearts  —  in  rotation  —  adored  her 
and  fondled  her  in  spasmodic  excess. 
Whether  exposed  to  their  loud  assidui- 
ties, whether  her  pillow  lay  submerged 
by  Daddy  Schanz's  proof-sheets,  or  on 
a  chair  in  Widow  Dugenhubel's  room 
flooded  by  that  dame's  ceaseless  oratory, 
whether  whistled  to,  laughed  at,  pinched, 
and  stealthily  caressed  by  Nick-Nack,  or 
whether  the  object  of  Lotte's  devotion 
and  sensible  care,  Emma  accepted  irreg- 
ularities and  homages  alike,  with  a  lofty 
indifference,  a  mild  remoteness,  which 
seemed  a  veritable  triumph  of  mind  over 
matter. 

None  of  the  gentlemen  and  ladies  of 
62 


NO   CONTINUING   CITY 

the  Mansard  had  had  opportunity  and 
leisure  to  meditate  upon  occult  lore,  or 
they  might  have  surmised  the  soul  of 
Seneca  or  Marcus  Aurelius  had  deigned 
to  reincarnate  in  wee  Emma  Rupp. 
Lotte,  unoccult  but  no  fool,  merely  re- 
marked :  — 

"  She  's  a  wise  one,  Emma-le  !  Looks 
as  if  she  just  knew." 

The  baby-stoic's  eyes  were  in  truth 
knowing, — large,  long,  deep-set,  of  the 
blue  that  merges  into  gray,  and  so  start  - 
lingly  intelligent  that  the  dwellers  in  the 
Mansard  were  of  the  unanimous  opinion 
she  privately  reflected  upon  all  that  hap- 
pened in  her  presence,  and  were  inclined 
to  lower  their  voices  when  discussing 
secrets  and  intimate  family  matters.  At 
this  period  of  her  career,  she  seemed  to  be 
chiefly  composed  of  a  scrap  of  old  shawl 
and  eyes  that  took  your  measure.  "  She 
listens  to  every  word  I  say,"  Widow 
Dugenhubel  protested.  If  this  was  the 
case,  it  testifies  to  more  intrepid  po- 
liteness on  Emma's  part  than  could  be 
alleged  of  any  other  human  creature. 

Baby  Emma  continued  to  manifest  her 
63 


NO   CONTINUING   CITY 

high  stoicism,  —  except  when  she  vibrated 
to  lush  Epicureanism  as  above  indicated, 

—  and  at  the  age  of  two  years  was  still 
tiny,   frail,    never  ill,  and  the   gracious 
recipient  of  the  bounty  of  the  Mansard, 
where  changes  now  and  then  took  place, 

—  Leni  and  Mina   being   succeeded  by 
Betti  and  Netti,  and  they  by  others  like 
unto  them.     Hair,  eyes,  and  names  dif- 
fered, but  rarely  the  cruel  drudgery  of 
the  day's  work,  or  the  fierce  and  frantic 
frivolousness  of  the  reaction  in  free  hours. 
Widow  Dugenhubel  had   moved   on,  to 
exercise  her  tongue  —  let  us  for  her  sake 
hope,  for  talking  was  what  she  loved  best 
on  earth  —  in  another  and  a  better  world. 
But  all  new-comers  vied  with  old  resi- 
dents in  paying  court  to  the  child. 

When  Nick-Nack,  who  had  princely 
tastes,  asked  her  what  he  should  bring 
her  from  a  fair  or  merry-making,  she  in- 
variably responded,  "  Something  good  to 
eat,"  and  usually  specified  prunes,  dates, 
or  sweets.  Nick-Nack,  like  most  of  his 
colleagues,  was  a  youth  of  brilliant  expec- 
tations. Chimney-sweeping  is  a  lucra- 
tive, as  well  as  gallant  profession,  but 
64 


NO   CONTINUING   CITY 

has  an  awkward  effect  upon  the  respi- 
ratory organs  of  the  ambitious  young 
gentlemen  who  follow  it,  and  is  apt  to 
instigate  a  break-neck  race  between  com- 
petence and  consumption,  the  chances 
strongly  in  favor  of  the  latter. 

In  Lotte's  evenings  at  home  she  made 
smart  frocks  for  Emma-le  and  was  a 
happy  woman.  Her  prospects  looked 
peaceful  and  assured.  She  had  for  many 
years  earned  well,  if  at  an  enormous  ex- 
penditure of  her  good  strength,  had  a  fair 
amount  in  the  savings  bank  and  would 
have  had  more,  were  she  not  helpful  to 
relatives  —  eVen  to  such  as  had  turned  a 
cold  but  strictly  moral  shoulder  upon  her 
in  the  days  when  she  was  young  and 
forsaken.  Now  she  was  zealously  work- 
ing for  Emma-le,  contentedly  planning 
her  future,  and  already  ruminating  with 
enjoyment  upon  the  remote  questions 
of  schooling  and  a  trade,  —  at  any  rate 
a  better  sort  of  school,  a  gentle  sort  of 
trade,  Lotte  determined. 

She  dreaded  no  interference  on  the 
part  of  Frau  Rupp,  of  whose  Swiss  ex- 
periences few  rumors  had  reached  the 
65 


NO   CONTINUING   CITY 

Mansard.  One  incoherent  letter  had 
come  indeed,  inquiring  for  certain  miss- 
ing objects,  among  which  Emma  was  not 
included,  but  the  mother  added  she 
should  come  for  the  child  some  day, 
when  she  was  quite  settled.  Lotte  was 
profoundly  skeptical  in  regard  to  any 
finite  completion  of  the  settling  process. 
Then  a  pedlar  who  had  returned  from 
Zurich  — 'who  met  a  man  who  knew  the 
apple-woman  on  the  corner  who  chatted 
with  Frau  Rupp's  teamster-cousin  who 
stopped  to  gossip  with  Nick-Nack,  strid- 
ing along  with  ladder  and  black  face,  who 
duly  reported  to  Lotte  —  h^d  hinted  that 
the  beer  and  grog  business  was  rolling 
down  hill,  and  its  conductors  likewise. 
The  velocity  and  momentum  of  Frau 
Rupp's  rolling  were  factors  which  Lotte 
had  often  reckoned  in  her  straight, 
shrewd  way. 

"  Nothing  will  stop  her,  short  of  the 
final  thump,"  she  reflected.  "So  much 
the  worse  for  her.  So  much  the  better 
for  us," — hugging  Emma-le  closer  and 
weighing  the  comparative  merits  of  milli- 
nery and  art-embroidery. 
66 


NO   CONTINUING   CITY 

"  It  is  pretty  work,  ribbons  and  flow- 
ers, and  paying  —  for  such  as  has  the 
knack  in  their  fingers.  'Ma-le  has.  But 
that  big  embroidery  is  great.  If  you 
have  a  talent  for  drawing  —  'Ma-le  has  — 
you  can  work  in  all  you  see  ;  a  bunch 
of  horse-chestnuts,  or  even  sunflowers. 
Anyhow,  she  shall  never  scour  and 
scrub.  Such  wrists  and  ankles  !  A  little 
tiny  mite  of  a  wee  bit  fine  lady !  She 
shall  learn  to  sing  if  she  likes,  so  there, 
now  !  "  This  with  a  defiant  mien  toward 
future  warnings  of  worldly  prudence,  her 
own  or  another's. 

She  must  make  her  will,  too,  and 
take  legal  steps  to  adopt  'Ma-le.  Then 
she  could  be  christened  —  Protestant  of 
course.  Here  Lotte  frowned,  and  decided 
there  was  no  need  of  haste.  For  bap- 
tism involved  some  queer  complications, 
and  she  had  the  invincible  repugnance 
of  the  respectable  working  -  woman  to- 
ward lawyers.  If  you  so  much  as  spoke 
to  one  of  them,  you  could  find  yourself 
in  a  disgraceful  law-court  before  you 
knew  it !  No,  there  was  time  enough 
for  all  that.  So  Lotte,  secure,  dreamed 
67 


NO   CONTINUING   CITY 

loving  and  ambitious  dreams  while  the 
frail  child  slept  in  her  arms. 

On  the  morrow,  a  boy  spied  Lotte 
balancing  herself  at  the  top  of  a  high 
ladder  and  dusting  some  carved  wood- 
work in  the  ceiling  of  one  of  his  father's 
palatial  rooms.  He  thought  it  would 
be  fun  to  shake  her  a  bit.  He  was  fond 
of  what  he  called  chaff,  and  merely 
meant  to  frighten  her.  He  succeeded. 
She  was  taken  unconscious  to  a  hos- 
pital. 

Not  all  the  sweets  that  Nick-Nack 
brought  could  quite  console  'Ma-le  for 
Lotte's  absence.  The  child  ate  them 
seriously,  never  declined  any  kindness, 
attention  or  adulation,  yet  for  weeks 
glanced  up,  discreetly  expectant  and 
wistful,  whenever  a  step  approache'd  the 
door.  Petted  by  all,  docile  with  all,  she 
bestowed  upon  none,  —  not  even  Nick- 
Nack,  —  the  more  intimate  caressing 
ways  reserved  for  Lotte  alone.  Born  old 
and  wise,  'Ma-le  waited. 

It  seemed  probable  that  she  would 
wait  long.  The  nice  little  chaffing  boy 
had  played  a  very  thorough-going  prank. 
68 


NO   CONTINUING   CITY 

Nick-Nack  went  on  Sundays  to  the  hos- 
pital, when  he  wore  fine  black  clothes, 
polished  boots  and  gaiters,  a  silk  hat, 
and  moved  with  a  certain  light  elegance 
which  may  be  acquired  in  chimneys. 
At  first  he  took  'Ma-le  with  him.  She 
behaved  with  her  wonted  weary  gentle- 
ness, as  if  hospitals,  doctors,  and  nurses 
were  familiar  trifles,  but  lavished  upon 
Lotte  faint  baby  touches  of  deep  and 
still  affection  which  subtly  implied  the 
sacredness  of  reminiscence  and  the 
strength  of  old  association. 

Nick-Nack  went  one  Sunday  alone. 
Then  he  went  no  more.  The  prank  was 
consummated. 

In  the  Mansard  a  council  was  held  at 
which  Nick-Nack,  sitting  on  the  table 
with  *  Ma-le,  presided.  After  floundering 
about  for  a  while  in  helpless  irrelevance, 
the  assembly  under  Nick-Nack's  guidance 
pulled  itself  sufficiently  into  shape  to  vote 
unanimously  that  'Ma-le  must  on  no  ac- 
count leave  the  garret.  Those  least  con- 
cerned, Widow  Dugenhubel's  successor 
and  Nanne  and  Fanni  the  new  factory 
girls,  voted  loudest. 
69 


NO   CONTINUING  CITY 

Now  'Ma-le  from  the  garret-point  of 
view  had  been  looked  upon  as  a  quasi 
heiress.  But  as  poor  Lotte  had  merely 
contemplated  those  dreaded  legal  steps, 
all  her  savings  fell  with  ironical  prompti- 
tude to  her  kindred  who  had  cast  her  out 
when  she  was  in  trouble.  Some  of  these 
points  Nick-Nack  accentuated  in  his  able 
speech,  and  little  'Ma-le  at  his  side  seemed 
like  a  dethroned  queen  —  grave,  reserved, 
and  sucking  barley-sugar. 

Daddy  Schanz  with  unwonted  acute- 
ness  remarked  that  life  was  uncertain 
and  such  things  did  happen.  Nanne  and 
Fanni  declared  they  would  think  them- 
selves awfully  lucky  if  they  ever  got  as 
near  as  that  to  a  fortune.  Widow  Du- 
genhubel's  successor  was  good  enough  to 
regale  the  company  with  a  convoluted 
narration  of  various  episodes  which,  in 
her  opinion,  bore  upon  the  subject  under 
discussion.  Granny  Schanz  murmured 
in  her  timid,  deprecating  voice  she  had 
not  even  considered  the  possibility  of  re- 
linquishing her  care  of  'Ma-le.  Nick- 
Nack  laughed  and  said  he  would  pay 
for  her  milk  and  toggery.  The  cheerful 
70 


NO   CONTINUING  CITY 

little  dressmaker,  who  had  moved  with  a 
crippled  husband  and  some  young  chil- 
dren into  Lotte's  room,  stated  that  it 
would  be  no  trouble  at  all  for  her  to  do 
any  little  job  the  child  needed. 

So  the  Mansard  possessed  'Ma-le  and 
'Ma-le  possessed  the  Mansard,  and  was 
regarded  anew  as  a  favorite  of  fortune, 
for  was  not  Nick-Nack,  her  special  patron, 
a  man  of  independent  means  ?  Not  even 
the  morality  of  a  garret  can  resist  the 
prestige  of  reiterated  prospective  inheri- 
tances. Alone  with  him  she  would  often 
ask  when  Lotte  was  coming  back,  and 
look  at  him  with  searching  eyes  that 
seemed  to  penetrate  his  paltry  inventions. 
Meanwhile  nothing  was  heard  from  Frau 
Rupp. 

'Ma-le  speedily  assumed  mental  control 
of  the  worthy  Schanz  couple.  It  was  the 
inevitable  result  of  her  intellectual  supe- 
riority and  quiet  force  of  character.  The 
children  of  garrets  are  necessarily  far 
cleverer  in  practical  ways  than  the  chil- 
dren of  luxury.  But  even  for  a  garret 
child,  'Ma-le  was  singularly  clear-headed, 
observant,  and  deft  of  hand.  A  dozen 
71 


NO   CONTINUING   CITY 

times  a  day  she  would  silently  foresee 
and  prevent  the  loss  of  Daddy  Schanz's 
spectacles,  the  search  for  which  had 
been  hitherto  a  frequent  and  time-con- 
suming rite.  She  knew  where  things 
were  and  where  they  ought  to  be,  and  in- 
stinctively harmonized  these  mostly  con- 
flicting conditions.  Things  indeed  never 
embarrassed  or  intimidated  her ;  she 
commanded  them  ;  whereas  they  had 
overawed  and  perplexed  Granny  Schanz 
all  her  life.  Hence  the  child's  easy 
supremacy.  The  Schanz  manage  gained 
in  perspicuity  from  the  day  'Ma-le  took 
it  under  her  wing.  She  presided  over 
Daddy  Schanz's  proof-sheets  and  invoked 
order  among  those  distraught  waves.  It 
is  probable  that  she  also  meditated  mak- 
ing the  queer  little  marks  in  the  margin, 
for  she  was  watching  his  work  continu- 
ally with  her  shrewd  deliberate  gaze. 
But  about  this  time  he  became  too  silly 
even  to  read  proof,  and  was  conveyed  to 
a  place  where  he  with  other  harmless 
and  helpless  old  men  enjoyed,  it  is  to  be 
hoped,  protection  even  better  than  little 
'Ma-le's. 

72 


NO   CONTINUING  CITY 

For  financial  considerations  Granny 
Schanz  now  moved  into  a  smaller  room 
in  another  garret.  Its  doors  and  passages 
bewildered  her  sadly,  and  'Ma-le  piloted 
her.  Nick-Nack  moved  also.  In  the 
hours  when  he  was  not  dangling  between 
earth  and  sky,  it  mattered  little  to  him 
where  his  tent  was  pitched,  provided  he 
was  near  'Ma-le,  who  delighted  in  him 
and  all  his  phases,  black  and  white. 

In  the  new  garret  lived  a  childless 
widow  named  Kathe  who  stitched  cloth- 
ing for  men  employed  on  the  railway, 
and  was  therefore  greatly  respected  by 
her  neighbors.  A  government  appoint- 
ment has  everywhere  its  own  dignity. 
She  often  stopped  on  the  stairs  to  see 
three-year-old  'Ma-le  encouraging  Granny 
Schanz  and  leading  her  home.  Once  the 
child  looked  up,  shaking  her  head  appre- 
hensively, and  said  "  She  's  rather  poorly 
to-day,"  and  she  and  Kathe  became 
friends  on  the  spot. 

Kathe  had  two  neat  rooms,  a  sewing- 
machine,  a  cat,  plants,  and  a  tiny  veranda. 
'Ma-le,  introduced  into  this  more  esthetic 
sphere,  grew  in    no  respect  forgetful  of 
73 


NO   CONTINUING   CITY 

less  favored  friends  and  older  ties.  She 
continued  to  protect  Granny  Schanz  with 
gentle  assiduity,  frequently  escorted  her 
to  their  former  garret- home,  and  never 
declined  sweets  from  Widow  Dugenhu- 
bel's  successor,  from  Polle  and  Dolle  the 
new  factory-girls,  or  indeed  from  any 
other  person. 

Kathe  was  a  quiet  strong  -  featured 
woman,  and  thoughtful.  'Ma-le  tacitly 
recognized  her  as  a  mental  peer,  and 
honored  her  with  closer  communion  and 
more  clinging  affection  than  the  waif 
had  evinced  since  Lotte's  death.  Be- 
side straightening  the  tangled  mazes  of 
Granny  Schanz's  daily  occupations,  'Ma-le 
went  to  school,  where,  either  by  intui- 
tion, or  as  reminiscence  of  previous  incar- 
nations, she  seemed  to  know  everything 
without  learning  it.  Her  duties  done, 
she  associated  with  Kathe  and  Nick- 
Nack  in  refreshing  companionship.  Frau 
Rupp  gave  no  sign,  and  Kathe,  growing 
visibly  younger,  began  to  make  plans  not 
unlike  those  once  cherished  by  Lotte. 

'Ma-le' s  fleeting  years  could  never  over- 
take the  maturity  of  her  spirit,  but  they 
74 


NO   CONTINUING   CITY 

were  doing  their  best.  She  was  now 
seven  years  old,  a  delicate,  anaemic,  old- 
fashioned,  wise  little  creature  with  brood- 
ing eyes  ;  yet  on  a  sudden,  in  the  presence 
of  her  own  familiar  friends,  unbending 
as  it  were,  relaxing  into  moods  of  deli- 
cious merriment.  Her  brain  was  a  power 
in  the  small  community.  Her  hands  by 
their  sensitiveness,  suppleness  and  deft- 
ness seemed  to  multiply  themselves. 
Nick-Nack  was  coughing  rather  more 
than  formerly,  but  laughed  no  less,  and 
his  elegance  on  Sundays  was  of  the  most 
distinguished  character.  On  summer 
evenings  the  three  sat  on  Kathe's  ve- 
randa and  looked  down  on  the  town,  — 
as  cool  as  nabobs.  These  were  'Ma-le's 
halcyon  days. 

Into  them  plunged  ominously  a  mes- 
sage, nay,  a  mandate,  from  Frau  Rupp. 
Whether  her  belated  maternal  instinct 
had  now  arrived  upon  the  scene,  or 
whether  she  merely  happened,  while  in 
dangerous  proximity  to  pen  and  ink,  to 
remember  'Ma-le,  is  difficult  for  the  his- 
torian to  determine.  Such  evil  conjunc- 
tions are  attributed  by  some  to  the  in- 
75 


NO   CONTINUING   CITY 

fluence  of  Saturn,  by  others  —  tout  court 

—  to  Satan.     Either  will  serve  the  pur- 
poses of  this  tale,  which  is  not  argumenta- 
tive.   Whoever  threw  the  bomb,  it  caused 
consternation  and  left  a  heartache  and  a 
void  in  its  wake.     Frau  Rupp's  language 

—  if  that  noble  word  may  be  applied  to 
her  headless  and  tailless  phrases  —  inti- 
mated, it  would  seem  somewhat  huskily, 
that  it  was  high  time  'Ma-le  should  begin 
to  help  her  poor  unfortunate  mother,  and 
the   pedlar   who   knew    her   cousin   the 
teamster  would  fetch  her. 

The  pedlar  fetched  her.  She  wore 
the  prettiest  new  frock  and  jacket  the 
desperate  Nick-Nack  could  buy,  and  all 
her  pockets  were  stuffed  with  pralines 
and  Kaiser-bonbons.  She  was  deathly 
white,  but  did  not  weep,  only  clung 
speechless  and  motionless  to  Kathe.  Go- 
ing off  to  Switzerland,  away  from  home 
and  friends,  with  a  strange  man,  to  an 
unknown  mother,  was  an  event  never 
yet  dreamed  of  in  her  philosophy,  and 
her  great  sad  eyes  looked,  it  may  be,  a 
bit  frightened.  All  heroes  have  their 
moments  of  human  weakness. 
76 


NO   CONTINUING   CITY 

It  is  possible  that  nothing  so  lasting 
and  solid  as  an  opinion,  a  conviction,  or 
even  a  distinct  impression  can  be  attrib- 
uted to  Frau  Rupp  at  this  stage  of  her 
existence,  but  some  vague  sense  of  dis- 
appointment she  must  have  felt,  when 
she  folded  'Ma-le  to  the  maternal  bosom 
and  perceived,  crookedly,  through  fumes 
and  vapors,  that  the  child  was  too  small, 
cold  and  undemonstrative,  and  had  far 
too  searching  unchildlike  eyes  to  succeed 
in  the  chosen  profession.  And  this  dis- 
appointment, fed  indeed  by  subsequent 
events,  must  have  recurred,  dully  per- 
sisted, and  acquired  a  certain  position  in 
that  muddled  brain  ;  or  surely  Frau  Rupp 
would  not  have  administered  blows,  the 
force  of  which  her  chronic  cerebral  ex- 
citement prevented  her  from  accurately 
measuring ;  nor  would  she,  as  expression 
of  general  dissatisfaction  with  the  paucity 
of  'Ma-le's  emoluments  as  street-beggar, 
have  flung  her  violently  down  the  cellar- 
stairs.  Those  stairs  and  their  supplement 
of  awful  darkness  shook  'Ma-le's  philoso- 
phy to  its  foundations. 

It  was  not  unnatural  that  Frau  Rupp 

77 


NO  CONTINUING   CITY 

should  desire  some  assistance.  She  was 
all  alone,  as  she  lamented  in  major  or 
minor  key,  according  to  what  may  be 
called  the  prevailing  psychic  manifesta- 
tion. The  beer  and  grog  business  was 
no  more.  Her  fourth  Mann,  with  ad- 
mirable presence  of  mind,  had  fled  to 
America.  The  daughters  who  had  ac- 
companied her  to  Zurich  were  gone  also. 
The  oldest  had  married  and  wisely  dis- 
appeared. The  second  had  gone  into 
service  from  which  she  refused  to  budge. 
The  little  one  had  run  away  with  some 
strolling  players.  'Ma-le  in  time  became 
aware  that  her  mother's  bloated  and 
blurred  sensibilities  still  retained  an  im- 
age of  this  errant  child,  who,  it  seemed, 
was  bold  and  saucy,  a  field-marshal  in 
planning  campaigns,  a  most  seductive 
beggar,  —  which  'Ma-le  emphatically  was 
not. 

For  weeks  she  came  home  empty- 
handed.  Neither  her  fine  personality 
nor  her  thrifty  self-respecting  traditions 
could  efface  themselves  all  at  once.  She 
roamed  about  in  a  dazed,  sad  way,  and 
took  her  mother's  reproaches,  and  worse, 


NO   CONTINUING  CITY 

rather  than  pennies  from  tourists.  Mean- 
while she  grew  thinner,  and  homesick- 
ness haunted  her  eyes.  Her  innermost 
famished  thought  was  flight  the  first  pos- 
sible moment,  but  she  was  too  far-sighted 
to  run  away  ineffectually.  The  first 
things  she  begged  were  postage-stamps 
of  the  friendly  corner  grocer,  who  also 
gave  her  bits  of  red  and  white  broken 
candy  when  she  fetched  her  mother's 
grog.  In  her  careful  little  letters  the 
margin  was  very  wide,  the  phrases  am- 
bitious, the  capitals  had  curly  tops,  she 
hoped  the  cat  and  the  plants  were  well, 
and  never  mentioned  herself  or  her 
mother. 

The  letters,  at  first  so  frequent,  grew 
rarer.  "  It 's  trouble,"  said  Kathe  gloom- 
ily, and  Nick-Nack  nodded.  Presently 
the  child  wrote  business  was  bad  and 
they  were  going  to  Lucerne.  Silence 
followed  —  dead  silence,  —  and  she  had 
been  gone  but  six  months.  Kathe  was 
growing  older  fast,  Nick-Nack  coughed 
more  and  laughed  less.  They  both  tried 
to  steer  Granny  Schanz  as  well  as  they 
could,  but  without  'Ma-le  she  was  in  sorry 
79 


NO   CONTINUING   CITY 

plight,  and  benevolent  relatives  finally 
gathered  her  up  and  put  her  away  in  the 
country. 

In  Lucerne,  after  long  resistance, 
'Ma-le  began  at  last  to  do  the  hated  work. 
Few  stoics  of  nine  years  could  have  held 
out  so  long,  and  blows  day  after  day  are 
a  forcible  argument.  Then,  some  gay 
children  driving  along  the  Axenstrasse 
stopped  their  carriage  to  ask  her  funny 
questions,  which  amused  them  greatly, 
and  tossed  her  some  chocolate.  It  was 
long  since  she  had  tasted  sweets.  So 
she  hung  about  the  hotels  and  the  Lion, 
and  chased  carriages  along  the  lake- 
shore,  with  animation  only  when  she 
spied  children. 

When  she  began  to  beg,  she  ceased  to 
write  to  her  old  friends.  She  never  at- 
tained real  proficiency  in  the  art,  —  never 
loved  it  for  its  own  sake,  —  but  she  could 
not  fail  utterly  in  anything  she  under- 
took. For  the  most  part  she  merely 
stood,  a  squalid,  listless  little  figure  on 
the  highroad,  and  took  what  fell  to  her 
lot.  When  she  got  sweets  she  sat  down 
on  the  ground  and  promptly  made  sure 
80 


NO   CONTINUING   CITY 

of  them.     Every  penny  she  brought  to 
her  mother. 

More  than  two  years  passed,  and  'Ma-le 
was  still  on  the  road.  She  had  become 
hardened  to  harshness,  abuse,  and  to 
the  dreary  routine  of  begging.  She  saw 
ignominious  phases  of  life,  associated 
with  vice  and  squalor,  and  comprehended 
them  deplorably  well.  Her  eyes  were 
not  always  mournful  now.  Watching  for 
pennies  had  made  them  stolid,  —  happy 
travelers  sometimes  called  them  brazen ; 
the  constant  sight  of  her  mother  turned 
them  haggard  and  hopeless.  Fatigue, 
exposure  to  all  weathers,  poor  and  scanty 
food,  and  more  especially  her  breathless 
and  involuntary  excursions  into  the  cellar, 
were  giving  her  a  singularly  yellow  and 
witchy  aspect  and  a  whole  gamut  of  pains. 
Something  inside  her  felt  queer  and  puffy 
when  she  ran.  With  the  decrease  of  her 
business  energy,  her  revenues  diminished. 
Hence  the  cellar  offered  her  rich  oppor- 
tunity for  meditations  upon  tempi  passati. 
She  uttered  no  complaint,  but  kept  un- 
swerving her  determination  to  return  to 
her  beloved  garret. 

Si 


NO   CONTINUING   CITY 

Now  Frau  Rupp  was  unquestionably 
of  a  social  temperament,  nor  should  she 
be  judged  conclusively  by  her  inordinate 
activity  cellar-wards,  which  occurred  with- 
out rancune  and  in  but  one  species  of  her 
shifting,  irresponsible,  incoherent  moods. 
She  forgot  the  circumstance  in  a  twin- 
kling and  would  wonder  where  'Ma-le  was. 
But  'Ma-le  forgot  nothing,  and  inscribed 
her  memories  in  hard  set  lines  about  her 
mouth.  The  vaunted  voice  of  nature 
never  spoke  in  her  heart.  She  was  re- 
mote, taciturn,  and  a  "  poor  stick  "  finan- 
cially, as  Frau  Rupp  asserted  not  without 
reason.  In  a  phenomenal  access  of  lucid- 
ity, she  entered  into  a  sort  of  copartner- 
ship with  and  took  under  her  roof  an 
enterprising  young  vagabond,  a  girl  of 
fourteen,  but  past-master  in  mendicancy, 
who  knew  all  fat  prospects  in  the  canton 
and  had  even  exploited  the  Engadine. 
Great,  too,  was  her  convivial  receptiv- 
ity. 

The  letter  which  Kathe  received  had 
no  curly-headed  capitals,  no  vestige  of 
margin,  was  soiled,  ambitionless,  and  said 
only  this :  — 


NO  CONTINUING  CITY 

DEAR  KATHE, 

If  Nick-Nock  comes  quick  he  can  get 
me.  Your  loving 

'MA-LE. 

Nick-Nack  came  quick. 

'Ma-le's  keenness  had  recognized  and 
used  the  psychological  moment,  while 
the  moment  before  or  after  might  have 
proved  fatal.  Fran  Rupp  happened  not 
to  mind.  Nick-Nack,  hollow-eyed  and 
emaciated,  but  gay,  debonair,  and  attired 
with  the  old  airy  elegance,  sat  on  a  bench 
at  the  station  and  waited  for  the  next 
train.  Beside  him  crouched  a  dirty, 
unkempt  child,  all  eyes,  who  clung  to  his 
hand  and  would  not  speak,  had  peremp- 
torily refused  to  take  time  enough  to  buy 
a  clean  frock,  breathed  too  short,  shud- 
dered, and  cast  furtive  glances  behind 
her. 

When  Kathe's  close  arms  once  re- 
leased the  trembling  little  form,  'Ma-le 
with  one  slow  gloating  look  verified  her 
reminiscences,  satisfied  herself  that  her 
long  lost  heaven  was  all  there,  —  the 
plants,  the  cat,  the  cleanness,  and  the 
veranda  under  the  sky,  —  smiled  a  beati- 
83 


NO   CONTINUING   CITY 

fic  smile  of  repossession,  and  went  to  bed 
for  six  weeks. 

The  unkempt  hair  grew  soft  again,  the 
beatific  smile,  as  she  lay  still  and  saw 
Kathe  and  Nick-Nack  near,  veiled  the 
hard  lines  about  the  mouth,  but  the  doc- 
tor could  not  mend  her  heart.  It  seemed 
incredible  that,  appertaining  to  'Ma-le,  it 
refused  to  listen  to  reason.  It  had,  how- 
ever, become  large,  startlingly  large  for 
its  narrow  accommodations,  and  obsti- 
nate. This  was  its  way  of  expressing 
radical  disapproval  of  certain  episodes  in 
her  history.  It  disturbed  'Ma-le's  serenity 
in  no  wise.  Indeed,  she  sometimes  told 
people  how  large  it  was,  with  mild  pride 
as  if  it  were  a  mammoth  vegetable  in  a 
garden,  and  would  add,  affably,  that  the 
doctor  said  she  could  not  possibly  live 
very  long. 

Her  ways  of  wise,  still  happiness  re- 
turned. Her  deep  sense  of  the  blessed- 
ness of  comradeship  had  never,  indeed, 
deserted  her.  Periods  of  bed  alternated 
with  intervals  of  semi  -  convalescence. 
Kathe  never  grasped  the  fact  that  a  bed- 
ridden child,  not  of  one's  own  blood, 


NO   CONTINUING   CITY 

could  be  an  inconvenience,  but  was 
always  extolling  'Ma-le's  usefulness  and 
narrating  the  wonders  that  child  accom- 
plished the  instant  she  was  on  her  feet, 
—  her  quick,  silent,  thorough  ways, 
"  more  help  than  any  two  grown  women." 
Yet  Kathe  gradually  discovered  that  her 
genteel  government  appointment,  which 
paid  her  as  much  as  two  shillings  a  day 
when  she  worked  steadily,  grew  less  lu- 
crative if  she  was  continually  leaving  her 
machine.  This  would  have  mattered  less, 
had  not  Nick-Nack  been  persuaded  by  a 
sanguine  and  enterprising  colleague  to 
speculate  a  bit.  Nick-Nack  laughed,  and 
said  he  could  easily  enough  make  more 
than  he  had  lost,  as  soon  as  his  cold  got 
better. 

With  the  advice  of  the  doctor,  and 
others  who  were  showing  some  interest 
in  the  little  group  in  the  garret,  —  which 
was  kind  of  them,  for  there  was  nothing 
at  all  extraordinary  in  'Ma-le  or  Nick- 
Nack  or  Kathe,  —  such  as  they  grow 
all  round  us  as  thick  as  blackberries,  — 
Kathe  consented  to  apply  to  the  town  for 
a  certain  provision  for  the  little  girl.  For 
85 


NO   CONTINUING  CITY 

the  practical  realization  of  this  project, 
Frau  Rupp's  cognizance  and  signature 
were  required.  Whereupon  she  declared 
that  if  money  were  forthcoming  from  any 
source,  her  daughter's  place  was  with 
her  mother.  This  unexpected  logic  and 
decision  would  seem  to  imply  the  robust 
influence  of  the  new  girl,  whose  hand 
undeniably  wrote  the  letters  which 
caused  'Ma-le  to  shiver  and  cower  in 
her  bed  and  turn  speechless  to  the  wall. 
Then  uprose  Kathe  and  repudiated  all 
alien  aid.  The  city  fathers,  nothing  loth, 
withdrew.  Frau  Rupp  receded  grum- 
bling, and  peace  again  descended  upon 
'Ma-le. 

It  may  perhaps  be  claimed,  without 
exaggeration,  that  this  garret  child 
unconsciously  possessed  some  spiritual 
gifts  for  the  mere  shadow  of  which  most 
of  us  have  to  struggle  hard  :  the  graces 
of  wise  reticence,  dignity,  patience,  for- 
bearance, steadfast  affection,  fortitude, 
and,  rarest  of  all,  pure  gratitude.  But 
the  impartial  observer  will  concede  these 
may  be  pagan  as  well  as  Christian  virtues, 
and  'Ma-le's  religious  notions,  it  must  be 
86 


NO   CONTINUING   CITY 

confessed,  were  baroques  in  the  extreme. 
Her  ecclesiastical  refuges  had  proved  as 
impermanent  as  her  local  habitations. 
The  mother  who  bore  and  forgot  her  was 
Catholic,  but  had  reeled  far  from  the 
fold.  The  child's  first  baby  prayer  was 
lisped  at  Lotte's  knee  in  Lutheran  form. 
Granny  Schanz  was  a  Methodist,  inclined 
to  Spiritualism.  All  that  she  could  im- 
part of  these  topics  'Ma-le  had  imbibed 
and  assimilated.  In  Switzerland  she  had 
occasionally  strayed  into  a  Catholic 
church  and  regarded  the  lights  and  the 
incense  approvingly.  But  her  devotions, 
in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  took  place 
without  priest  or  bell,  and,  after  the 
fashion  of  the  early  Christians,  in  a  spe- 
cies of  catacomb. 

Kathe,  ostensibly  Catholic,  was  not 
over-occupied  with  the  next  world.  But, 
being  of  a  practical  turn  of  mind,  it 
seemed  to  her,  in  view  of  what  in  all 
probability  would  be  'Ma-le's  next  jour- 
ney, no  more  than  orderly  to  have  her 
properly  equipped.  She  was  therefore 
christened  and  instructed,  fixing  her 
penetrating  eyes  on  the  priest's  face  and 
87 


NO   CONTINUING  CITY 

seeming  to  read  his  soul  and  that  of  all 
the  wise  people  who  approached.  They 
were  many,  for  she  had  become  popular, 
—  an  occasional  but  not  usual  penalty  of 
greatness.  Nothing  could  be  more  satis- 
factory, intelligent,  and  docile  than  her 
spiritual  attitude,  but  she  would  have 
embraced  with  the  same  sweetness  the 
faith  of  Timbuctoo  had  Kathe  and  Nick- 
Nack  proposed  it.  Still,  the  wan  little 
pilgrim  had  at  last  booked  her  seat  for  the 
kingdom  of  heaven,  and  her  gentle  spirit 
was  what  is  termed  "  reconciled  with  its 
Creator,"  which  was  naturally  gratifying 
to  all  parties  concerned. 

Her  days  out  of  bed  grew  fewer.  In 
the  spring  came  a  brief  revival  of 
strength,  but  soon  the  unreasonable 
heart  declined  to  let  her  take  slow  walks 
with  Nick-Nack  and  climb  stairs.  Por- 
tions of  his  mechanism  were  playing  him 
the  same  trick  about  this  time.  Al- 
though he  did  not  suspect  it,  in  the  break- 
neck race  he  had  undertaken,  the  rider 
on  the  pale  horse  had  long  ago  won. 

So  Nick-Nack  sat  gayly  by  'Ma-le's  bed 
and  laughed  and  gleamed  with  hope,  and, 


NO   CONTINUING  CITY 

whenever  he  could  get  grip  enough  on 
his  voice,  told  whimsical,  brave  tales  of 
what  they  would  do  next  year,  and  the 
next,  and  other  years.  And  'Ma-le  had  a 
graduated  row  of  dolls  standing  on  her 
bed  and  leaning  against  the  wall,  and 
she  munched  sweets  and  basked  in  the 
gentleness  of  the  world.  While  Kathe 
stitched  like  mad,  and  for  the  rest  took 
things  as  they  came,  having  found  they 
usually  came  quite  soon  enough.  All 
three  were  cheerful  and  content,  but  then, 
you  see,  they  were  common  persons,  — 
and  very  matter-of-fact. 
89 


THALATTA ! 

was  glorious  !  "  thought  Hen- 
riette  Vischer  with  exultation, 
as  she  mechanically  smoothed 
her  iron  gray  hair,  put  on  her  plain  dress 
and  prim  collar,  set  her  room  —  austere 
as  an  anchorite's  cell  —  to  rights,  opened 
her  casements  and  turned  back  her  bed 
to  air. 

"It  was  so  strong,  so  vivid.  I  never 
had  a  stronger.  It  was  wonderful.  It 
will  last  till  I  get  there.  Ac/i,  grosser 
Gott  im  Himmel,  to  think  I  am  going  ! 
What  will  Ottilie  and  Miezle  say !  How 
will  they  bear  the  surprise  ?  It  seems  a 
crime  to  undertake  it  all  alone.  Twenty- 
two  hours  by  rail.  Du  meine  Cute!  Two 
days  there,  to  spend  exactly  as  I  like. 
Twenty-two  hours  back  —  remembering. 
How  I  ever  got  so  far  as  to  plan  it  and 
set  the  day  I  don't  know,  and  I  feel  like 
the  Prodigal  Son.  Yet,  if  you  Ve  hun- 
90 


THALATTA 

gered  and  thirsted  for  just  one  thing  all 
your  life,  and  are  sixty-eight  years  old, 
and  never  saw  the  day  you  could  do  it, 
and  now  you  can  with  a  clear  conscience, 
at  least  so  far  as  the  money  is  concerned 
—  well,  selfish  or  not,  I  'm  going  to  be- 
hold it  once  with  waking  eyes  before  I 
die  !  " 

With  an  expression  of  singular  deter- 
mination even  for  Henriette  Vischer, 
she  went  briskly  downstairs  to  see  that 
Fritz,  the  little  apprentice  and  errand 
boy,  had  opened  the  shop  and  properly 
begun  his  day's  work. 

Her  mouth  looked  grim,  but  the  deep 
wrinkles  about  her  shrewd  eyes  were 
benevolent  and  humorous.  The  grim- 
ness  had  of  necessity  waxed  strong,  con- 
fronting the  inordinate  silliness  of  the 
two  sisters  she  was  trailing  through  life ; 
and,  Heaven  knows,  daily  intercourse 
with  those  dames  required  a  liberal  sea- 
soning of  benevolence  and  humor  to 
make  it  in  anywise  palatable.  She  had 
an  excellent  head,  both  in  its  outward 
form  and  interior  furnishings,  a  resolute 
profile,  and  a  still  erect  and  vigorous  fig- 
91 


THALATTA 

ure.  In  her  little  shop  she  sold  lamp- 
shades, beribboned  boxes  and  photograph 
frames,  leather  handkerchief  and  glove 
cases  and  other  very  clean  and  respect- 
able objects  of  home  manufacture,  besides 
cards  for  birthdays,  confirmations,  Christ- 
mas, and  the  like.  Hers  were  the  patient 
old  hands  that  might  always  be  depended 
upon  to  complete  embroidered  tokens  of 
affection  for  blushing  girls  to  present  to 
their  lovers.  In  the  background  was  a 
somnolent  book-bindery,  relic  of  her  hus- 
band —  dead  these  thirty  years  —  and 
still  conducted  by  his  old  foreman.  Al- 
together, she  enjoyed  steady  patronage, 
much  respect,  and  had  no  fault  to  find 
with  her  modest  humdrum  business  in  a 
back  street  of  a  small  inland  town,  ex- 
cept —  in  the  most  secret  chamber  of 
her  heart  —  that  the  town  was  inland. 

"  Eberhard  not  yet  down  ? "  she  asked, 
glancing  into  the  workrooms. 

"  No,"  grumbled  old  Gottlieb,  "  and  I 
never  set  eye  on  him  yesterday  and  hardly 
on  Monday  either." 

"He's  younger  than  you  and  I,"  she 
responded  with  so  strong  a  note  of  good 
92 


THALATTA 

cheer  that  the  old  man  looked  up  from 
his  work  and  smiled. 

In  the  breakfast-room  her  sister  Otti- 
lie,  a  heavy  woman  with  blurred  features 
and  a  sententious  manner,  was  talking 
thus,  between  large  sips  of  coffee  and 
liberal  mouthfuls  of  bread :  — 

"  It  was  a  green  silk  frock,  apple  green 
with  large  white  polka  dots  —  good-morn- 
ing, Henriette  —  made  with  five  tucks 
and  a  frill.  And  I  wore  a  pink  sprigged 
jaconet  bertha-cape  and  a  broad  Leghorn 
hat  trimmed  with  straw-colored  ribbons. 
They  had  been  washed  and  ironed  but 
they  looked  perfectly  new.  I  remember 
Martha  Pfitzer,  she  that  was  afterwards 
Frau  Gemeinderath  Stolz,  said  to  me  that 
morning  what  pretty  ribbons  they  were. 
That  was  the  twenty-seventh  of  April, 
1840.  Ribbons  were  better  then.  She 
had  three  boys.  On  the  third  of  June,  I 
wore  the  dress  again  to  the  Kranzchen 
and  Lucie  Kaltenbock  spilled  whipped 
cream  all  down  the  front  breadth.  She 
was  fifteen,  just  confirmed  and  already 
engaged  to  her  cousin  Carl,  and  they 
moved  to  Ulm  and  set  up  a  hardware 
93 


THALATTA 

business.  She  that  was  afterwards  Frau 
Revisor  Berner  whispered  to  me  at  the 
Musik  Fest  on  the  nineteenth  of  June, 
at  half -past  six  in  the  evening,  as  we  were 
going  up  the  stairway  to  the  left  gallery 
third  row  back  in  an  awful  jam  —  I  re- 
member it  was  the  nineteenth  because  it 
was  the  day  after  Cousin  Helene  Ritter's 
birthday,  and  the  next  Musik  Fest  three 
years  later  they  began  on  the  twenty-first 
in  unusually  hot  weather  for  the  season 
—  that  she  could  not  for  her  life  imagine 
what  any  man  could  see  in  that  silly  little 
Lucie  Kaltenbock.  The  stains  never 
came  out." 

Meanwhile  Miezle,  a  spoiled  child  of 
fifty-six,  was  toying  capriciously  with  her 
roll,  feeding  her  canary  with  sugar,  and 
chirping  to  him  with  shrill  coquettish 
cries,  and  trills,  a  sort  of  airy  clarionet- 
solo,  insolently  independent  of  the  heavy 
bassoon  accompaniment  of  Ottilie's  voice. 

"It  was  a  pretty  frock,"  Henriette 
remarked  benevolently,  her  thoughts  re- 
turning from  a  wide  and  breezy  flight  as 
Ottilie  paused  for  breath  and  refresh- 
ments. In  a  moment  her  vast  flood  of 
94 


THALATTA 

reminiscence  was  rolling  on  anew,  while 
Miezle,  impertinently  unheeding,  fitfully 
babbled  to  her  bird. 

With  a  distinct  sense  of  guilt,  Henri- 
ette  regarded  their  unsuspecting  faces. 
What  she  was  contemplating  savored 
of  wild  adventure.  Then  her  motive  — 
how  explain  it  ?  How  put  her  longing 
into  words,  she  a  staid  old  woman  ?  Years 
before,  she  used  to  speak  of  the  dream, 
but  nobody  cared  about  it.  Not  even 
her  good  husband  had  understood.  After 
all,  what  was  so  utterly  devoid  of  interest 
and  significance  as  another's  dream  ?  Yet 
this  dream,  if  the  truth  were  known,  was 
no  small  part  of  her  existence. 

From  her  earliest  childhood  it  had 
haunted  her.  Sometimes  it  came  night 
after  night  in  an  unbroken  series ;  again, 
after  varying  intervals.  If  it  was  ever 
absent  longer  than  eight  or  ten  days,  she 
missed  it  sorely  and  grew  ill  at  ease.  Al- 
ways inherently  the  same,  it  presented 
itself  under  changing  conditions.  There 
might  be  ships,  masts,  crowds  of  hur- 
rying men  with  vivid  dark  faces,  —  and 
steep  narrow  streets  between  houses 
95 


THALATTA 

such  as  she  had  never  seen,  —  but  It 
lay  beyond.  Or  ultra-foreign  scenes  — 
quaint,  neat,  like  pictures  on  tea-cups  — 
and  //  waiting  in  its  might.  It  —  shore- 
less, trackless,  boundless,  and  no  vestige 
of  humanity  except  her  itinerant  dream- 
self.  Oftenest,  a  vast  expanse  of  rocky 
coast,  //  surging  gloriously  and  a  group 
of  strong  men  hailing  //  with  cries  of 

joy- 
She  had  waked,  indeed,  with  that  tri- 
umphant cry  upon  her  lips,  but  never 
in  all  the  years  could  she  carry  it  quite 
over  the  mystic  boundary  of  dreamland, 
though  a  sense  of  gladness  and  exhilara- 
tion would  linger,  and  pervade  her  homely 
and  monotonous  duties.  If  she  dreamed 
other  dreams,  she  never  remembered 
them.  Why  always  this  unique  vision, 
—  strenuous  —  dominant  ?  Did  other 
souls  seek  by  night  scenes  diametrically 
opposed  to  the  whole  tenor  of  their  lives, 
traditions,  and  occupations  by  day  ?  Not 
Ottilie,  not  Miezle,  at  all  events.  She 
had  heard  them  tell  their  dreams.  They 
were  precisely  like  their  other  experi- 
ences. 

96 


THALATTA 

"  Helma  and  Julia  Kernick  write  they 
are  coming  to  have  coffee  with  me  this 
afternoon,"  said  Miezle,  wiry  and  auto- 
cratic. "  You  must  get  me  some  cakes, 
Ottilie,  and  some  whipped  cream.  But 
don't  spill  it  on  your  front  breadth,"  she 
added  with  a  school-girl  cackle  and  a 
gratified  sense  of  aptness. 

"  On  the  day  of  old  Otto  Kernick's 
funeral,"  Ottilie  began  portentously,  "the 
sixth  of  November,  1837,  at  three  in  the 
afternoon  from  the  Hospital  Church, 
Emilie  Braun's  first  husband  Herr  Asses- 
sor Greiner  was  just  coming  round  the 
corner  of  "  — 

"  Don't  spoil  your  front  breadth,"  gig- 
gled Miezle,  still  enjoying  her  wit.  "I 
hope  it  will  not  rain.  I  think  it  looks 
like  rain.  I  said  to  Cousin  Dorothea 
Siegle  I  thought  we  were  probably  going 
to  have  rain.  And  Cousin  Dorothea 
said  she  did  n't  know,  but  it  did  cer- 
tainly look  like  rain.  I  said  I  thought 
when  it  looked  as  it  has  looked  lately  it 
generally  rained.  I  said  to  myself  the 
first  thing  this  morning  that  it  looked 
cloudy  and  as  if  it  might  rain." 
97 


THALATTA 

"  The  bearded  man  near  me  wore  san- 
dals," reflected  Henriette.  "  I  saw  them 
distinctly  on  the  shore.  —  Is  there  no- 
thing else  you  would  like,  Miezle  ? " 

Miezle  considered,  interpolating  flip- 
pant, satisfied  ejaculations  in  Ottilie's 
droning  verbosity. 

"  They  will  resent  it,"  mused  Henriette 
with  a  pang  of  self  -  reproach.  "  They 
will  think  me  crazy  and  wickedly  extrava- 
gant and  I  suppose  I  am.  I  shall  never 
hear  the  last  of  it,  it  is  so  altogether  like 
riotous  living.  There  they  sit  suspecting 
nothing.  I  shall  not  dare  to  tell  them 
till  half -past  eleven  to-morrow  just  as  I  'm 
flying  off  to  catch  the  noon  train." 

"  Some  jelly,  Miezle  ?  How  would 
some  Rheinwein  jelly  do?  Oh,  Ottilie, 
if  you  would  like  the  real  lace  barb  on 
your  summer  hat,  I  don't  mind  letting 
you  wear  it  this  season." 

Whereupon  Ottilie  amid  effusive 
thanks  began  to  weave  a  convoluted  tale 
of  lace,  her  numbers  as  unassailable  as 
an  astronomer's. 

"  And  if  they  should  ever  discover  I 
had  dared  to  speculate  a  wee  bit  in  stocks 


THALATTA 

and  had  good  luck  and  was  going  to 
use  my  gains  for  this  journey,  I  believe 
they  would  simply  faint."  Conscience- 
stricken,  with  the  soul  of  a  conspirator, 
she  surveyed  their  familiar  features,  her 
calm  shrewd  face  betraying  no  trace  of 
emotion.  "  But  it  was  the  first  and  last 
time  and  how  else  could  I  ever  have 
gone  ?  Nothing  could  induce  me  to  touch 
my  little  capital ;  the  business  goes  about 
so-so,  well  enough  it  is  true ;  but  liv- 
ing is  dearer  every  year,  and  it  would  be 
a  sin  to  let  them  suffer  in  the  slightest 
degree  through  my  wild  notions.  No, 
there  was  really  no  other  way  if  it  was 
gambling  —  and  I  fear  it  was  —  and  I 
hope  the  Lord  will  forgive  me,  crazy 
old  woman  that  I  am !  " 

Ottilie's  recital  continued  imperturb- 
ably.  Miezle,  interrupting  ad  libitum, 
was  inspecting  her  hands  —  tiny,  claw- 
like  objects  of  which  she  was  very  proud. 
She  was  one  of  the  ugliest  and  daintiest 
little  women  on  earth.  All  three  sisters 
were  scrupulously  neat,  but  Miezle  was 
almost  preternaturally  exquisite.  They 
had  always  been  proud  of  her  ;  no  one  in- 
99 


THALATTA 

quired  why  or  demanded  her  credentials. 
It  was  the  family  tradition  even  before 
her  illness  that  she  should  be  admired 
and  humored  in  all  things. 

For  many  years  she  had  been  a  chronic 
invalid,  having  early  in  life  lost  the  use 
of  her  legs.  Her  complaint  fortunately 
was  painless,  and  by  another  beneficent 
dispensation  her  mental  horizon,  not  spa- 
cious at  the  start,  had  assumed  in  her 
narrow  environment  dimensions  more  or 
less  similar  to  her  canary's,  so  that  she 
seemed  not  to  beat  against  her  cage.  It 
is  true  she  now  and  then  called  attention 
to  her  imprisonment,  but  rather  as  a  his- 
trionic attempt  to  increase  her  importance 
than  as  actual  lamentation. 

For  she  passed  her  days  pleasantly 
enough  with  minute  attention  to  her  toi- 
lette, pasting  birds  and  flowers  in  her 
scrap-book,  doing  fancy  work,  reading 
the  evening  paper  gloatingly,  —  that  is 
to  say  its  local  news,  continued  tale  and 
advertisements,  never  its  leaders  or  tele- 
grams —  tyrannizing  over  Ottilie  —  who, 
whatever  her  limitations,  was  most  con- 
scientious and  patient  in  servitude,  — 

100 


THALATTA 

and  receiving  visitors  for  gossip  and  cof- 
fee, at  which  feasts  Miezle  in  her  wheel- 
chair presided  with  sovereign  ease  and 
dignity. 

Doubtless  noble  resignation  goes  far 
towards  rendering  such  a  life  endurable, 
but  still  more  potent,  it  would  seem,  is 
inordinate  self-satisfaction.  It  is  fair, 
perhaps,  to  add  that  the  gentle  fidelity 
of  spirit  which  forbids  people  ever  to 
let  a  little  elderly,  witchlike,  unamiable 
woman  —  with  a  beaky  face,  an  obvious 
moustache  and  no  ideas  —  suffer  from 
loneliness  and  neglect,  and  which  keeps 
them,  merely  because  they  happened  to 
know  her  forty  or  fifty  years  ago,  troop- 
ing in  still  with  their  children  and  chil- 
dren's children,  indefatigably  offering 
flowers  and  modest  gifts,  is  essentially 
"made  in  Germany." 

Poor  little  Miezle,  Henrietta  reflected, 
had  never  taken  the  smallest  journey. 
Even  Ottilie  had  been  only  to  and  from 
the  near  village  where  her  husband  was 
Biirgermeister,  until  he  died,  the  profane 
insisted,  of  over-exertion  of  the  larynx  — 
Ottilie's  larynx.  Henriette  also  had 


THALATTA 

never  left  her  native  town,  yet  contem- 
plated them  pityingly.  It  was  almost  as 
if  she  had  gone,  seen,  and  returned  a 
conqueror. 

She  would  bring  them  some  remem- 
brance from  her  wild  mad  roving  (second- 
class  return  ticket  to  Hamburg)  and 
Eberhard,  too,  although  her  conscience 
was  at  rest  about  him.  He  would  inherit 
all  she  had,  and  the  snug  business.  The 
time  would  come  when  he  could  travel  at 
his  pleasure.  Her  strange  journey  was 
no  wrong  to  him  at  least.  She  could 
hardly  accuse  herself  of  niggardliness  to 
the  boy,  nor  did  he,  she  was  well  aware. 
Well,  she  was  so  fond  of  him,  and  so 
glad  to  give  him  a  pleasure,  and  he  too 
loved  her  dearly.  Not  steady  at  his  work 
of  late,  no  —  and  somewhat  moody  and 
irritable  —  not  his  bright  self.  No  doubt 
a  little  too  wild.  That  would  pass.  He 
would  sober  down.  He  was  a  dear  fellow 
at  heart,  always  after  the  smallest  fault  so 
penitent  and  gentle  as  a  child,  and  full 
of  the  best  intentions.  She  must  have 
a  good  talk  with  him  immediately  upon 
her  return. 

102 


THALATTA 

She  knew  her  sisters  had  a  way  of 
calling  her,  behind  her  back,  severe  and 
even  stingy,  because  she  sometimes  de- 
nied them  a  wish.  They  had  good  heads 
for  reckoning  their  own  money  —  a  chan- 
cellor-of-the-exchequer,  to  say  the  least, 
was  lost  in  Ottilie  —  but  what  Henriette 
expended  upon  them  they  deigned  not  to 
compute.  Their  little  annuities  they 
were  wont  to  discuss  rather  grandly ; 
that  she  for  long  years  had  provided 
them  with  their  home  and  the  necessities 
of  life,  they  ignored  for  the  most  part. 
It  seemed  more  genteel  to  be  silent  on 
this  point.  If  they  ever  distantly  alluded 
to  it,  they  took  care  to  remind  each  other 
that  after  all  she  could  "afford  it,"  — 
she  had  "the  business."  The  qualities 
that  went  to  make  her  modest  commer- 
cial success  they  never  appreciated  — 
Miezle  from  sheer  incapacity,  Ottilie  be- 
cause too  preoccupied  by  her  chronologi- 
cal tables.  Besides,  Henriette  never  ex- 
plained her  methods.  The  sisters  helped 
her  to  fill  extra  orders  at  Christmas-tide 
and  Easter,  and  this  was  almost  their 
only  connection  with  the  shop.  She  was 
103 


THALATTA 

therefore  the  more  content  that  Eberhard 
was  quick,  intelligent,  in  all  practical 
things  her  confidant,  more  and  more 
familiar  with  every  detail  of  the  business, 
particularly  since  he  had  become  so 
clever  a  penman,  and  kept  the  books  so 
handsomely ;  that  was  a  great  relief,  now 
that  she  was  getting  older. 

Henriette  had  long  since  finished  her 
breakfast,  but  lingered  still,  torn  by  curi- 
ous compunctions.  After  all,  these  sis- 
ters were  the  powers  with  which  she  had 
to  reckon.  Perhaps  she  was  too  curt 
with  Ottilie  and  Miezle  at  times,  —  in 
the  hard  years  especially.  Thank  Hea- 
ven, she  'd  paid  off  the  mortgage.  When 
she  came  back,  they  should  each  have 
some  great  pleasure  —  whatever  they 
liked  best.  Ottilie  should  buy  a  new 
mantilla,  taking  her  own  time  and  going 
to  all  the  shops  to  talk  and  compare. 
Then  she  should  wear  it  somewhere  and 
show  it,  say  at  a  garden-concert.  She 
had  always  been  fond  of  music  because 
it  collects  a  crowd. 

Once  Miezle  had  stayed  ten  days  at 
some  small  Baths  in  the  suburbs,  drunk 
104 


THALATTA 

water  at  the  springs  in  the  mornings,  and 
wheeled  herself  with  grandezza  along 
shady  walks.  The  self-glorification  which 
she  had  brought  back  from  this  campaign 
made  her  incredibly  happy,  and  doubt- 
less no  conqueror  ever  alluded  to  the  tri- 
umphs of  a  world-convulsing  epoch  with 
a  tithe  of  the  purely  personal  compla- 
cency which  Miezle  derived  from  her 
innocuous  summer  exploits.  Ottilie  had 
journeyed  to  her  per  tram  every  day  and 
had  the  celestial  pleasure  of  sitting  on  a 
bench  and  watching  strangers  and  being 
thereby  voluminously  reminded  of  the 
old,  exhaustless  and  never-to-be-forgot- 
ten. The  two  should  do  it  again.  If 
anything  else  could  be  devised  to  make 
them  happy,  they  should  have  it  upon 
her  return.  Poor  Ottilie  was  looking 
rather  waxen,  and  far  from  strong. 

"  Henriette,"  said  Ottilie,  "I  forgot 
to  mention  that  I  heard  the  same  myste- 
rious noises  night  before  last  that  I  no- 
ticed last  Thursday  at  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  and  I  really  should  think  you  'd 
look  into  the  matter.  For  you  remember 
the  great  bank  robbery  that  took  place 


THALATTA 

on  the  second  of  March,  1863  —  my 
sainted  Sigmund  was  discussing  it  with 
the  Herr  Inspektor  Botzen  on  the  ninth 
of  March  between  ten  and  eleven  in  the 
evening,  while  I  was  embroidering  a  blue 
poppy  pattern  in  the  corners  of  my  plum- 
colored  lady's-cloth  table-cover  with  the 
pinked  edge.  That  was  the  year  I  had 
my  sciatica  in  the  following  November 
after  wetting  my  feet  coming  home  from 
church  on  Sunday  evening  the  sixteenth. 
They  were  having  four  bottles  of  beer 
with  black  bread  and  Krauterkas  —  and 
my  Sigmund  said,  and  the  Herr  Inspektor 
said  also,  —  and  his  father  had  been  Bur- 
germeister,  a  solid  man  and  father  of  a 
large  family,  —  that  if  proper  precautions 
had  been  taken  beforehand,  that  burglary 
never  would  have  occurred." 

"  How  can  I  look  into  the  matter,  Ot- 
tilie,  two  days  after  it  happened  ?  Be- 
sides you  never  tell  me  what  you  hear 
—  footsteps,  doors  or  what.  You  talk  in 
riddles.  It  is  quite  mystifying." 

"How  can  I  tell  you  when  I  do  not 
know  myself?  You  know  as  much  as  I 
know  if  it  comes  to  that.  I  cannot  pre- 
106 


THALATTA 

tend  to  explain  what  I  did  not  see  and 
do  not  understand.  I'm  worried,  so  I 
worry  you.  I  'm  mystified,  so  I  mystify 
you.  I  tell  you  what  I  heard  and  I  sur- 
mise burglars.  It  is  all  very  well  to  be 
scornful  about  noises  in  the  night,  but 
Frau  Stadtpfarrer  Nussbaum  who  was  a 
Mayer  from  Waiblingen  "  — 

"  There,  there,  Ottilie,  let  us  keep  to 
the  subject  in  hand." 

"That  is  just  what  we  cannot  do. 
There  is  no  subject  in  hand.  The  sub- 
ject is  in  the  dark.  The  subject  goes 
wandering  round  your  house  at  night  and 
bodes  no  good,  and  you  refuse  to  be 
warned  while  there  is  yet  time,  before  we 
are  all  murdered  in  our  beds  like  the 
entire  Polt-Schmidt  family  on  the  seven- 
teenth of  August,  1856." 

Miezle  uttered  a  shrill  little  scream. 

"  It  is  very  inconsiderate  of  you  not  to 
mind,  Henriette.  It  is  your  own  house 
and  you  ought  to  look  after  it.  If  there 's 
anything  I  do  detest,  it 's  burglars  prowl- 
ing about  by  night." 

"  Child,  what  can  I  do  ? "  returned 
Henriette  indulgently.  "Had  I  heard 
107 


THALATTA 

anything,  I  should  have  gone  out  to  see 
what  it  was.  Ottilie  prefers  to  stay  on 
the  safe  side  of  a  locked  door.  I  miss 
nothing.  The  till  was  quite  right.  I 
locked  up  below  as  usual.  It  must  have 
been  Ottilie's  nerves  —  or  ghosts,  per- 
haps." 

"If  you  do  not  hear  that  stealthy 
creeping  "  — 

"  Oh,  if  they  should  get  me ! "  cried 
Miezle,  as  if  she  were  a  species  of  Kohi- 
noor. 

"  You  must  sleep  like  a  log." 

In  Henriette's  face  was  an  indescrib- 
ably happy  light. 

"  I  sleep  —  remarkably,"  she  said. 
"  But  don't  insist  upon  frightening  poor 
Miezle,  for  probably  your  burglar  is  no- 
body but  Eberhard." 

"  Eberhard !  As  if  he  would  sneak 
about  in  the  night  and  frighten  his  own 
mother !  If  my  sainted  Sigmund  had 
lived  to  hear  you  say  that,  he  would 
wonder,  yes,  wonder  at  you,  Henriette ! 
Eberhard,  dear  boy,  having  gone  to  his 
room  night  before  last  at  twenty-three 
minutes  past  eleven,  for  I  had  just  fin- 
108 


THALATTA 

ished  putting  a  new  braid  on  my  second 
best  cashmere  skirt,  and  the  lamp  begin- 
ning to  flicker,  I  "  — 

"Did  you  see  Eberhard  yesterday?" 
asked  Henriette  abruptly.  "  Do  you 
know  where  he  was  ? " 

"  On  Monday,"  replied  the  aggrieved 
mother,  vaguely  belligerent,  slightly  lach- 
rymose, "  he  said  he  should  go  out  of 
town  on  Tuesday  to  take  Professor  Hart- 
wig's  special  orders  for  binding  a  lot  of 
books." 

"  It  is  curious,"  thought  Henriette, 
"  that  I  've  heard  nothing  from  Professor 
Hart  wig.  Somebody  wants  me,  Fritz  ? 
I  '11  come  at  once." 

Miezle's  bird  was  pecking  her  finger. 
She  giggled  girlishly  and  prattled  baby- 
talk,  unmindful  of  Ottilie,  who,  wiping  her 
eyes,  discoursed  upon  the  feelings  of  a 
mother,  which  she  declared  Henriette 
never  understood. 

"  No,  I  don't,"  Henriette  admitted 
with  blunt  good-humor  as  she  rose  to  go 
down-stairs.  "  Some  feelings  of  mothers 
I  never  pretend  to  understand  —  others 
perhaps  I  may.  But  I  meant  no  harm, 
109 


THALATTA 

Ottilie.  You  know  very  well  I  think  the 
world  of  Eberhard.  If  he's  a  bit  late 
now  and  then,  I  cannot  say  he  goes  to 
roost  with  the  chickens,  can  I  ?  But 
Eberhard's  got  no  better  friend  on  earth 
than  Henriette  Vischer." 

In  the  middle  of  the  shop  stood  her 
banker. 

"  Can  I  see  you  alone  ? "  he  said,  and 
as  she  closed  the  door  of  a  private  room, 
"  I  am  so  exceedingly  distressed,  I  have 
come  myself,"  he  murmured.  "  Having 
always  known  you  and  your  family  — 
having  so  much  esteem  for  you  all — 
and  —  and  "  — 

"Has  anything  happened  to  Eber- 
hard ?  "  she  demanded.  "  An  accident  ? 
Is  he  dead?" 

"  Control  yourself,  my  dear  Frau  Vis- 
cher," he  urged  as  people  will,  though 
she  was  regarding  him  with  the  strength 
of  a  rock  in  her  rugged  face.  "  It  may 
be  quite  in  order,  of  course  —  yet  I 
fear  —  and  if  there 's  anything  wrong 
we  've  not  a  moment  to  lose  —  allow 
me"  — 


THALATTA 

Taking  two  cheques  from  his  pocket- 
book  he  placed  them  in  her  hand. 

As  she  stared  at  them,  it  seemed  to 
him  her  strong  and  comely  face  visibly 
shrank  into  that  of  an  old,  old  woman 
with  gray  and  haggard  features. 

"  The  first  was  presented  on  Friday 
last,  you  observe.  It  was  submitted  to 
me  as  usual.  I  thought  it  rather  large, 
but  suspected  nothing  irregular.  It  was 
from  your  cheque-book  and  bore  your 
signature.  Your  nephew  Eberhard  has 
frequently  of  late  years  presented  your 
cheques,  payable  to  yourself  or  bearer. 
Yesterday,  unfortunately,  I  was  out  of 
town,  and  have  indeed  only  just  returned 
this  morning.  I  certainly  should  have 
hesitated  to  cash  it  without  consulting 
you,  the  sum  is  so  astoundingly  at  vari- 
ance with  your  business  habits.  In  fact, 
the  two  cheques  practically  close  your 
account  with  us. 

"  It  was  just  before  we  closed  yesterday 
that  the  second  was  presented.  There 
was  rather  a  run,  and  the  cashier  who 
received  it  was  exceedingly  busy.  He 


THALATTA 

cashed  it,  but  afterwards  became  uneasy, 
thought  he  perceived  something  queer 
in  the  signature.  The  quirl  of  the  V  is 
not  yours,  he  maintains.  He  was  waiting 
at  my  house  this  morning  when  I  arrived 
— and  here  I  am,  deeply  distressed,  I  need 
not  assure  you,  to  be  the  bearer  of  such 
tidings  —  but  entirely  at  your  service. 
It  is  most  deplorable,  but  of  course  we 
must  lose  no  time.  With  your  permis- 
sion I  will  without  delay  inform  the  po- 
lice. I  am  of  the  opinion  your  unfortu- 
nate nephew  is  on  his  way  to  Hamburg. 
Sometimes,"  he  spoke  with  a  certain  rou- 
tine, "  they  try  Zurich,  but  usually  Ham- 
burg, and  the  first  ship  sailing." 

Suddenly  into  that  narrow  room,  be- 
tween her  and  the  solicitous  face  upon 
which  her  physical  eyes  were  gazing, 
broke  space  —  strength  —  freedom;  the 
slow  plunge  of  breakers ;  the  poise  of 
wide-winged  birds. 

"He  will  behold  it,"  cried  her  heart 
with  a  mighty  pang. 

She  set  her  lips  grimly. 

"  There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  the 


THALATTA 

quirl  of  the  V,"   she  said  in  a  matter- 
of-fact  tone. 

"  You  condone,"  — gasped  the  banker 
—  "  you  assume  "- 

Her  grave  gesture  silenced  him. 

"The  signature  is  mine." 
113 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

I 

>HE  two  young  men  were  weary 
and  footsore,  and  the  road  was 
steep.     The  pale    one  dropped 
under  a  tree  and  closed  his  eyes. 

"It's  no  use,  Florio.  You'd  better 
give  it  up." 

"  Idiot !  "  returned  the  other,  a  big 
blond  fellow  with  a  soft  voice,  —  sat 
down,  hugged  his  knees,  and  scowled. 
Presently  he  exclaimed  :  — 

"  Chardo  !  You  're  not  going  to  play 
me  the  shabby  trick  of  fainting  again  ?  " 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  it,"  Richard  replied 
feebly. 

"  Well,  mind  what  you  're  about ! 
Wait." 

Running  down  the  bank,  he  wet  his 
handkerchief  in  a  bit  of  brook  trickling 
114 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

between  vineyards  and  bathed  his  friend's 
face. 

"  It  costs  nothing,  which  is  one  for  us  ; 
but,  alas!"  he  muttered  ruefully,  "it  is 
not  filling.  Don't  faint,  little  one !  " 

"  I'm  all  right." 

"  You  look  it.  Never  mind.  You  '11 
look  better  soon.  Just  you  wait  till  your 
stomach's  full  of  roast  capon  and  Bur- 
gundy." 

Richard  smiled  in  languid  irony. 

"  See !  The  very  thought  is  illuminat- 
ing. If  you  'd  only  grin  a  little  oftener, 
and  drop  that  bad  habit  of  going  about 
with  your  Sorrows-of-Werther,  starved- 
greyhound  expression,  this  copartnership 
would  make  a  better  impression  on  the 
public." 

Richard  propped  himself  on  one  elbow. 

"  My  dear  old  boy,  I  want  to  speak  to 
you.  I  'm  quite  played  out,  you  see, 
and  "  — 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it !  " 

"Worse  still,  I  'm  ruining  you." 

"  Don't  drivel,  little  one." 

"  Alone,  you  'd  get  along  all  right, 
even  now  that  you  've  wasted  all  you 
"5 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

had  on  me ;  and  I  've  made  up  my  mind 
once  for  all  "  — 

"  Oh,  have  you !  You  tell  me  about 
that  later,  will  you  ?  I  can't  stop  just 
now.  Ricardo  mio,  we  stand  upon  the 
threshold  of  our  enterprise !  " 

"  Don't  swagger.     Listen,  Florio." 

"  I  '11  be  damned  if  I  will.  You  are 
starving.  Has  a  starving  man  sense? 
You  have  been  eleven  weeks  in  a  hospi- 
tal. Does  that  tend  to  cheerful  and  sane 
views  of  life  ?  What  were  you  at  be- 
fore, when  I  found  you  ?  Gluttonizing  on 
black  coffee,  while  you  did  nasty  little 
jobs  for  that  confounded  illustrated  paper 
and  tried  to  scrape  enough  together  to 
paint  your  picture,  until  you  broke  down 
flat,  black  coffee  being  proverbially  not 
filling.  Now  don't  lie  there  in  a  ditch 
and  get  maudlin.  Just  answer  me  this. 
Suppose  you  have  bread  and  beer,  and  a 
room,  and  your  canvas  and  traps,  are  you 
or  are  you  not,  man  enough  to  paint  your 
picture  ? " 

The  painter's  soul  leaped  in  his  eyes. 

"  Well,  you  are  going  to  paint  it,  my 
boy.  So  what 's  the  use  of  whining  ? 

116 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

But  first  we  Ve  got  to  eat.  I  've  talked 
enough.  Now,  I  'm  going  to  gird  up  my 
loins  and  storm  the  town." 

"As  we  've  stormed  the  others," 
Richard  said  bitterly. 

"Not  at  all.  Quite  otherwise.  This 
town  will  be  squeezed."  He  opened  and 
closed  his  hand  significantly.  "We've 
been,  up  to  this  present,  too  virtuous. 
Virtue  is  not  filling.  Nor  does  it  make 
for  respectability.  Look  at  our  clothes. 
I  shall  now  take  to  the  road.  Put  money 
in  thy  purse" 

"  I  Ve  no  conception  what  you  mean, 
Florio,"  the  other  returned  wearily. 

"  Nor  I.  That  is,  I  have  created  the 
gigantic  outlines,  but  not  yet  the  fine 
details.  I  advise  you  to  pull  your  hat 
over  your  eyes  and  take  a  nap.  It  will 
cost  us  nothing.  Anyhow,  don't  worry. 
Things  are  going  to  be  all  right.  I  '11  be 
back  soon.  Don't  faint,  little  one ! 
Mind,  no  nonsense." 

"  Florio,  have  you  one  single  penny  ? " 

"  Not  I.  If  I  had  a  penny,  pray  where 
would  be  the  genius  in  getting  some 
bread?" 

117 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

Richard  sighed  and  covered  his  face. 
Too  disheartened  to  hope,  too  hungry  to 
sleep,  he  lay  motionless  and  miserable 
by  the  roadside,  while  Florio  tramped  up 
hill  with  a  spirited  effect  at  the  start, 
but  soon  with  lagging  feet  and  a  per- 
plexed countenance. 

"  Oh,  Lord,"  he  groaned,  "  whet  my 
wits,  or  I  cannot  keep  Chardo's  soul  and 
body  together,  and  when  you  are  driven 
into  a  corner  it 's  no  use  splitting  hairs. 
I  told  them  the  truth,"  he  reflected  re- 
sentfully, "  and  nobody  believed  or  cared. 
Old  fools,  that  pretend  to  know  every- 
thing beforehand,  and  are  always  sight- 
ing and  scenting  something  rotten ! 
Dolts  that  imagine  themselves  shrewd 
because  they  invite  disappointment  and 
fatten  on  suspicion  !  I  tell  them  hon- 
estly who  my  father  was,  and  what  I 
know  and  can  do  and  want,  and  what 
sort  of  fellow  Richard  is,  and  what  a 
heroic  fight  he  has  made.  The  sleek 
ones  with  full  bellies  smile.  It  sounds 
rather  improbable,  they  say.  The  art 
professors  are  very  sorry.  Of  course,  in 
their  position,  and  so  on  and  so  forth, 
118 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

they  have  a  good  many  such  applications. 
Besides  —  did  n't  I  want  to  punch  that 
smirk !  —  if  a  man  has  genuine  talent  he 
is  sure  to  make  his  mark  somehow, 
sooner  or  later.  Then  out  stalks  my 
lord  Richard,  as  haughty  as  a  hidalgo 
with  a  patch  in  his  trousers.  The  com- 
mercial nabobs  make  still  shorter  work  of 
me,  and  no  newspaper  needs  a  stevedore 
about  my  size. 

"  Improbable  ?  Of  course  it  is  improb- 
able. The  truth  mostly  is,  deuce  take 
it !  I  don't  know  that  I  'd  believe  it  my- 
self, if  my  stomach  would  sit  down  and 
be  mannerly.  All  the  same,  two  young 
fellows  of  fair  education  with  no  crimes 
on  their  conscience,  no  disgrace  in  their 
families,  and  through  no  fault  of  their 
own,  are  nearly  famishing  on  the  out- 
skirts of  this  rich  town  this  day. 

"Well,  town,  if  truth  is  too  good  for 
you,  I  '11  give  you  some  ornamental  lying. 
Richard  's  got  to  have  three  square  meals 
a  day,  which  means  color  in  his  face,  flesh 
on  his  bones,  and  the  old  spirit  in  his 
heart.  For  this  I  '11  dig,  I  '11  beg,  I  '11 
—  well,  I  do  draw  the  line  at  stealing. 
119 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

But  I  '11  treat  you  to  all  the  impudence 
and  hocus-pocus  you  can  swallow,  and 
take  without  prejudice  whatever  the 
Lord  sends  in  my  way." 

A  carriage  was  slowly  passing  the 
cross-road  on  the  brow  of  the  hill  where 
he  stopped  an  instant.  The  chubby 
hand  of  a  child  seated  by  the  coach- 
man negligently  dangled  a  large  Bretzel. 
The  vagabond  at  the  horses'  heads  lifted 
his  hands  to  his  mouth  and  suddenly  ut- 
tered a  prolonged  and  terrific  yell,  which 
by  straining  a  point  might  be  considered 
a  Jodel,  but  rather  resembled  the  howl  of 
a  demon  in  anguish.  The  horses  started, 
the  child  screamed,  swayed  and  dropped 
the  Bretzel,  three  women  simultaneously 
comforted  the  victim,  expostulated  with 
the  miscreant,  and  gave  orders  to  the 
irate  coachman  who  threatened  with  his 
long  whip. 

But  these  futile  demonstrations  receded 
with  the  brisk  trot  of  the  startled  horses, 
and  Florio  in  gleeful  possession  of  the 
plunder  retraced  his  steps  down  hill. 

"  An  omen ! "  he  exulted,  for  an 
instant  regarding  with  a  peculiar  ex- 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

pression  his  crisp,  brown  booty,  then 
thrusting  it  behind  him,  beyond  sight 
and  smell,  and  whistling  ostentatiously. 

"  Where  did  you  get  it  ? "  asked  Rich- 
ard, but  not  before  biting  the  thickest 
part. 

"  I  found  it  up  there  in  the  road." 

"  Oh,  gammon  !  " 

"  Upon  my  word  I  did,"  Florio  assured 
him  with  a  candid  air.  "  Children  drop 
such  things  sometimes,  don't  they  ?  " 

Richard  broke  off  half  and  proffered 
it. 

"Oh,  I  ate  mine  coming  down  the 
hill,"  Florio  said,  picking  up  a  twig  and 
chewing  it,  while  hugging  his  knees  and 
keeping  his  eyes  fixed  like  a  dog's  on  his 
friend,  until  he  had  consumed  the  last 
morsel  and  leaned  back  against  the  tree 
with  a  little  sigh. 

"It  is  astonishing  what  a  difference 
even  a  trifle  like  that  makes  in  a  man." 

"Quite  my  opinion." 

"  But  rather  humiliating,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"That  we,  hence  our  thoughts,  are 
what  we  eat  ?  Not  a  bit  humiliating. 
But  if  you  please,  our  genius  is  to  be 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

no  product  of  the  humble  Bretzel.  Good 
juicy  beef  and  mutton  pictures  you  shall 
paint.  You  have  proved  that  a  diet  of 
thin  air  does  not  foster  art.  And  I 
claim  that  my  great  thoughts  need  succu- 
lent food,  and  a  lot  of  it,  washed  down 
with  foaming  beer.  A  gnawing  stomach 
writes  bilious  verse." 

"  Florio,  1 11  come  along  with  you  now. 
It 's  more  cheerful,  and  I  feel  better." 

"  No,  no.  Wait  a  bit.  You  're  too 
tired.  Let  me  go  foraging  alone  once 
more.  I  have  considerable  business  to 
transact  before  night.  Judging  by  the 
cuckoo  which  has  just  struck  sixteen,  it 
must  now  be  about  two  o'clock  by  my 
watch  at  the  pawnbroker's  in  Cologne." 

Again  Florio  climbed  the  hill. 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  could  devour  not 
only  the  Bretzel  but  the  fat  child  on 
the  box.  Hermes,  god  of  rogues,  guide 
my  yearning  stomach.  I  don't  know 
whether  I  can  write  a  comedy,  but  I  be- 
lieve I  can  perform  a  large  sized  one,  solo. 
I  feel  all  sorts  of  latent  iniquities  bub- 
bling up  in  me  since  I  took  to  the  road 
and  the  motto  :  "  No  prejudice."  There 's 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

a  house  across  the  field.  They  can  do 
no  more  than  set  the  dogs  on  me.  If  I 
do  not  eat,  I  shall  fall  down  like  Chardo, 
and  then  where  are  we  ?  Why  should 
they  not  give  me  some  bread  if  I  'm  hun- 
gry ?  I  would  give  it  them.  I  refuse  to 
consider  it  begging.  Anyhow,  I  '11  just 
stroll  down  their  lane  and  look  over  their 
hedge." 

He  buttoned  his  coat  across  his  chest, 
set  his  teeth,  and  marched  stiffly  toward 
the  little  farm. 

Out  came  a  shrewish  woman  and  ac- 
costed him  with  a  harsh  — 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  No  boon  at  your  hands,"  thought  he, 
"though  I  die." 

"  I  am  merely  admiring  your  salad," 
he  replied  politely,  lifted  his  hat  and  re- 
treated whence  he  came. 

He  went  some  distance  along  the  hot, 
dusty  road,  reached  the  top  of  the  long 
hill,  met  no  tempting  morsels  waiting  to 
fall  into  his  mouth,  seated  himself  on  a 
stile,  wiped  his  moist  face  and  racked  his 
brains. 

"Food  and  a  bed  for  Chardo  before 
123 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

nightfall !  They  shall  be  forthcoming. 
But  firstly,  eat  I  must,  eat  I  will.  I  '11 
march  up  to  that  cottage  and  spin  them 
a  yarn.  I  '11  offer  to  tell  their  fortunes, 
regulate  their  clocks,  mend  their  roofs, 
wash  their  poodles  or  cut  their  corns. 
No  Gorgon  and  no  pestilence  shall  deter 
me." 

Bristling  with  determination,  he 
knocked. 

A  benign  and  diminutive  old  woman 
opened  the  door  and  peered  up  curiously 
at  him. 

His  romances  all  took  flight.  Before 
so  much  gentleness  and  simplicity  he 
could  invent  nothing. 

She  bade  him  a  friendly  good  day. 

"  My  daughter  is  out,  and  the  children. 
They  are  with  my  son  in  the  vineyard. 
Did  you  want  to  see  my  son  ? " 

"  No,"  said  Florio  helplessly. 

"  My  daughter,  then  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

She  waited,  wondering. 

"I  am  tired,"   he   stammered,  deadly 
ashamed  of  his  ulterior  object.     "  Would 
you  let  me  come  in  and  rest  awhile  ?  " 
124 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

"  Certainly.  I  was  cautioned  not  to 
let  tramps  and  beggars  in,"  she  added 
smiling,  "  but  I  'm  sure  you  are  none  of 
that  sort." 

He  walked  into  the  clean  cool  kitchen 
and  sat  down  opposite  a  dresser,  upon 
which  was  a  large  brown  loaf  and  a 
pitcher  of  cider. 

The  little  old  woman,  pleased  to  ob- 
tain a  listener,  resumed  her  knitting  and 
prattled  guilelessly  of  her  son,  her  son's 
wife,  her  grandchildren's  recent  measles, 
the  weather,  the  vines,  the  prognostica- 
tions for  the  crops,  last  year's  crops,  the 
fowls,  the  potatoes,  the  hard  times,  and 
her  native  village  fifty  years  gone. 

"  Why  don't  I  get  up  and  take  it  ? " 
Florio  asked  himself  desperately.  "  It  is 
mere  prejudice,  — the  miserable  shackles 
of  conventionality.  Somehow  I  can't  beg 
of  this  nice  old  woman.  But  it  is  evi- 
dent I  must,  unless  I  construct  the  sort 
of  woman  of  whom  I  can  beg." 

"  Is  there  any  sort  of  work  I  could  do 
for  you  ? "  he  mumbled,  "  any  hoeing  or 
digging  or  splitting  or  weeding  or  water- 
ing or  chopping  ?  " 

125 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

She  glanced  shrewdly  in  his  face,  and 
at  his  clothes,  which  if  shabby  were  not 
those  of  a  laboring  man,  and  answered 
placidly  :  — 

"  My  Blasius  does  all  that  —  and  my 
daughter  —  with  other  help  if  needed, 
but  such  work  is  not  for  such  as  you." 

"  Being  dead  famished,"  he  reflected, 
"and  worn  out  and  penniless,  I  cannot 
ask  for  that  bread.  If  I  did  not  need  it, 
were  well  fed,  and  rich,  I  could  smirk 
patronizingly :  '  Oh,  do  let  me  try  your 
good  barley  loaf ! '  And  this  we  call 
being  human.  I  'd  rather  be  a  dog  and 
bay  the  moon." 

Staring  straight  before  him  at  the 
dresser  he  waited,  strangely  unable  to 
frame  in  words  his  first  venture  in  men- 
dicancy. If  she  had  only  not  made 
that  fatally  apt  allusion  to  beggars  and 
tramps,  he  was  certain  he  would  not 
hesitate.  Involuntarily  his  inward  hol- 
lowness  sought  expression  in  a  despair- 
ing groan. 

She  looked  up  startled. 

"  I  have  come  far,"  he  faltered,  "  and 
eaten  no  dinner  to-day.  Could  I  have  a 
126 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

slice  of  that  bread  ? "  His  voice  was  shy 
and  low,  his  heart  beat  fast,  and  a  flush 
overspread  his  face. 

"  Bless  me,  why  did  n't  you  say  so 
before?" 

She  trotted  about  briskly,  set  the  loaf 
before  him,  and  some  cheese. 

"  What  would  you  like  to  drink  ? 
Cider  's  not  good  on  an  empty  stomach. 
In  a  few  minutes  you  shall  have  a  cup  of 
hot  coffee.  Bless  me,  bless  me  !  How 
could  I  know,  at  this  time  of  day  ?  Of 
course,  at  Vesper-time,  I  should  have 
offered  it." 

Florio  had  taken  one  heavenly  mouth- 
ful of  brown  bread,  when  his  heart  sank 
with  the  awful  suspicion  he  might  be  de- 
ceiving her  unwittingly. 

"  I  have  no  money,"  he  bluntly  an- 
nounced. 

"Sometimes  that  happens,"  returned 
the  little  old  woman  equably. 

He  said  no  more.  He  simply  fell  to. 
He  could  have  wept  or  shouted  for  thank- 
fulness. If  this  was  begging  he  would 
make  the  most  of  it.  His  heart  grew 
light  as  the  loaf  diminished.  A  sense  of 
127 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

security  and  peace  pervaded  his  being. 
He  stretched  his  legs  lazily,  and  smiled 
at  the  little  old  woman  as  she  bustled 
about  and  served  his  coffee  and  fetched 
some  beer  and  took  evident  delight  in 
the  dauntlessness  of  his  appetite. 

"Well,  you  are  hungry!"  exclaimed 
his  admiring  hostess. 

"  Rather !  "  he  agreed,  continuing 
doughtily.  The  more  he  ate,  the  better 
tasted  the  hot  coffee.  The  more  coffee 
he  drank,  the  greater  his  zest  for  thick 
slices  of  bread  and  cheese,  and  on  this 
substratum  he  finally  poured  down  a  tall 
mug  of  beer. 

At  length  he  leaned  back,  wiping  his 
smiling  mouth,  and  suddenly  remem- 
bered Chardo  lying  by  the  roadside. 

With  a  muffled  but  robust  imprecation, 
he  sprang  up  :  — 

"  See  here,  perhaps  I  am  a  tramp  "  — 

"  No,  no,  you  have  not  a  tramp's  face, 
my  pretty  young  gentleman.  Nor  do 
you  speak  like  a  tramp." 

"  If  having  no  money,  no  work,  no  food 
to  speak  of  in  days  and  not  a  morsel 
since  yesterday  morning,  is  being  a  tramp, 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

I  'm  a  tramp  fast  enough,  and  I  '11  not 
deny  it.  But  I  'm  an  honest  man,  and  I 
shan't  be  a  tramp  long,  I  promise  you. 
Now,  see  here.  While  I  Ve  been  gor- 
ging myself,  beast  that  I  am,  my  chum  's 
down  there  in  the  road,  ill  and  worn  out 
and  aching  for  food.  And  I  want  you  to 
just  give  me  a  lot  of  things  for  him  as  fast 
as  ever  you  can,  —  some  of  that  coffee, 
and  bread,  and  "  — 

"  I  '11  boil  him  some  eggs,"  she  pro- 
posed briskly. 

"  Engelmiitterchen  !  Boil  half  a  dozen. 
Make  up  a  good  parcel,  will  you  ?  any- 
thing you  happen  to  have.  Cake,  if 
you  Ve  got  a  bit.  He  likes  cake.  Or 
even  cold  pudding.  I  don't  suppose 
you  've  got  a  piece  of  meat  ?  Never 
mind.  A  lot  of  that  cheese,  please.  It 's 
awfully  good  cheese.  And  what 's  your 
name,  and  your  son's,  and  the  children's, 
and  all  your  names  ?  Some  day  I  '11 
come  back  in  a  different  fashion,  and 
you  '11  never  be  sorry  as  long  as  you  live 
that  I  did  my  first  begging  in  your  house. 
What  I  've  eaten  I  '11  take  as  a  gift  from 
you  to  me,"  he  went  on,  with  a  flashing 
129 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

smile,  and  shaking  both  her  hands  —  "  as 
your  bounty,  Miitterchen,  and  I  '11  bless 
you  for  it.  But  all  this  here  I  'm  borrow- 
ing, you  understand.  I  'm  your  bond  fide 
debtor,  and  I  '11  pay  compound  interest, 
you  '11  see !  " 

"  I  see  you  are  a  merry  young  gen- 
tleman, and  love  your  jest."  Somewhat 
hypnotized  by  his  eagerness  and  verve, 
his  gentle  benefactress  now  committed 
extensive  depredations  upon  the  family 
larder. 

"  We  must  all  do  one  another  good 
turns  in  this  world,"  she  said  simply, 
handing  him  a  well  -  rilled  basket.  "  If 
you  don't  mind  my  saying  it,  if  I  were 
you  I  wouldn't  call  myself  tramp  and 
beggar,  because,"  with  a  smile  of  mellow 
sagacity,  "some  folks  never  know  how 
foolish  they  are." 

"Oh,  angel-granny,  I  thank  thee  for 
that  word,"  thought  Florio,  hastening 
down  the  hill.  "  It  shall  be  the  corner- 
stone of  Chardo's  fortunes." 

" Nunc  plaudite.  There's  coffee  in 
that  beer-bottle." 

Richard  whistled. 
130 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

"  Begged  or  stolen  ?  " 

"  An'  it  please  you,  borrowed !  Bor- 
rowed of  a  friend  of  mine  —  after  first 
dining  like  an  alderman  myself,  of  course. 
Look  out  for  number  one  saves  nine,  is 
my  motto,"  Florio  returned  with  a  swag- 
ger, his  chest  well  out,  his  feet  planted 
far  apart,  his  face  flushed  and  smiling. 

Richard,  after  a  long  pull  at  the  com- 
forting bottle,  gazed  up  with  affectionate 
yet  somewhat  pathetic  eyes,  muttered: 
"  You  are  such  a  donkey !  "  and  turned 
his  face  quickly  aside. 

"  It 's  all  right,  little  one.  Amuse 
yourself  now  with  that  basket.  Stay 
where  you  are  and  keep  house.  I  'm  off 
for  the  third  trip.  They  always  go  three 
times  —  my  prototypes,  you  know  — 
Noah's  weary  dove  and  the  others." 

Leaving  the  main  road,  he  struck  off 
at  random,  by  narrow  ways  through  vine- 
yards, where  men  in  blue  blouses  were 
stooping  in  the  strong  sunshine  —  hard 
at  work  loosing  the  rocky  soil  round  the 
vine-roots. 

"  Most  of  them  look  as  if  they  might 
casually  suspect  what  fools  they  are. 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

I  must  find  one  who,  as  Granny  Aristotle 
said,  never  knows.  This  old  bumpkin 
may  do." 

Negligently  leaning  on  a  stone  wall, 
he  gazed  at  nothing  in  particular,  and  be- 
gan to  whistle. 


II 

Beyond  a  surly  glance  now  and  then 
the  vintner  paid  no  heed  to  the  idle  fellow, 
but  gradually,  after  the  fashion  of  even 
unsocial  animals,  became  vaguely  accus- 
tomed or  reconciled  to  his  presence. 
When  Florio  judged  sufficient  time  had 
elapsed,  he  cautiously  let  fall  a  series  of 
isolated  remarks  of  ultra-humdrum  pur- 
port, the  vintner  responding,  it  is  true,  only 
by  grunts,  which,  however,  Florio  ventured 
to  hope  were  designed  rather  to  sustain 
than  to  repress  intercourse.  Meanwhile 
he  relentlessly  noted  that  the  blue  figures 
against  the  brown  warm  earth  along  the 
whole  broad  hill  were,  for  the  most  part, 
fairly  young  lithe  men,  advancing  rapidly 
from  hillock  to  hillock,  where  the  new 
small  vines  were  pushing,  while  this 
132 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

man's  movements  were  slow,  reluctant, 
and  impeded  by  an  Athos  of  formidable 
dimensions. 

"  Tough,  eh  ? "  said  the  lazy  youth, 
seating  himself  astride  the  wall. 

A  covert,  oracular  glance  answered 
him. 

"  Especially  for  one  man  alone  "  — 

No  response  except  some  rather  vin- 
dictive hacking  and  picking. 

"  In  our  vineyards  we  turn  out  a  score 
of  men  at  a  time  even  on  a  little  place 
like  this." 

The  vintner  lifted  his  slow  gaze. 

"Although,  to  be  sure,  we  have  no 
such  soil.  Our  earth  is  soft  as  butter. 
Our  grapes  are  big  as  good-sized  plums. 
Our  vineyards  —  well,  there 's  money  in 
our  vineyards.  Only  of  course  we  don't 
sell." 

The  vintner  paused,  his  foot  on  his 
spade. 

"  Whose  vineyards  ?  " 

"My  master's." 

"  Who  is  he  ?  " 

"Prince   Chardo,"   replied  the   sunny 
youth  on  the  wall  and  never  blinked. 
133 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

"  Don't  know  him,"  said  the  man  stol- 
idly, and  resumed  his  task. 

Now  Florio  had  had  no  notion  in  which 
direction  his  wayward  genius  would  leap. 
He  had  but  meant  to  win  the  peasant's 
confidence  and  earn  a  little  money.  "  My 
master,"  was  said  in  unpremeditated  mis- 
chief, but  it  seemed  to  the  rogue  from 
this  moment  his  course  was  clear.  I 
ought  not  to  have  been  ashamed  to  ask 
seraphic  granny  for  bread  and  I  was.  I 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  myself  now  and 
I  'm  not.  On  the  contrary  en  avant ! 
Hurrah  for  Prince  Chardo  !  Hock  !  " 

Presently  it  was  Prince  Chardo  here, 
Prince  Chardo  there,  Prince  Chardo 
round  all  corners.  "  Our  estates,"  and 
the  phenomenal  size  and  sweetness  of  the 
melons,  nectarines,  peaches,  strawberries, 
and  figs  grown  in  those  delectable  lands 
and  forwarded  in  huge  hampers  when 
his  highness  deigned  to  travel  in  foreign 
parts  ;  Prince  Chardo's  castles,  villas,  and 
hunting-lodges,  his  cattle,  horses,  dogs, 
and  game,  his  mines,  his  forests,  his  im- 
mense retinue  and  oriental  pomp. 

The    taciturn    old    vintner    doggedly 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

hacked  the  stubborn  earth,  but  he  was 
ruminating,  Florio  plainly  perceived. 

"  Where  are  his  estates  ?  " 

"  Hungry." 

"  Hungary  ?     That 's  far  ? " 

"  Hungry,"  rejoined  the  youth  airily, 
"is  near  or  far,  according  as  you  go." 

The  old  man  mused  bitterly  upon  the 
inequalities  of  fortune  and  vineyards. 

"  Soft  as  butter  ? " 

"  As  fresh  butter." 

"  What 's  his  whole  name  ?  " 

"  Sedet,  SEternumqtie  Sedebit  Infelix 
Theseus,"  replied  Florio  glibly,  without 
the  quiver  of  an  eyelash.  "  And  that 's 
not  all  of  it.  He  's  got  a  lot  more.  Gen- 
tlemen of  quality  always  have,  you  know. 
Bless  you,  they  don't  mind  how  many 
names  they  have  !  " 

By  this  time  the  vintner  had  heard 
Prince  Chardo's  name  so  frequently  reit- 
erated it  had  become  an  established  fact, 
which  naturally  proved  the  authenticity 
of  Florio's  claims.  The  man  belonged 
to  that  large  category  of  individuals  — 
not  exclusively  vintners  —  who,  of  an  un- 
imaginative and  essentially  suspicious 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

turn  of  mind,  will  yet  believe  the  most 
monstrous  tale  if  they  but  hear  it  often 
enough. 

"  He  is  here,  —  your  prince  ?  " 

"  He  is  on  the  way,"  Florio  said 
sweetly.  "  You  need  n't  say  anything 
about  it  just  yet.  He  prefers  to  travel 
quietly.  That 's  why  I  'm  not  wearing 
my  livery.  I  am  only  one  of  the  under 
servants,  you  know.  A  lot  of  us  were 
sent  on  in  advance.  It  matters  nothing 
to  him  how  many  come.  He  's  not  one 
that  counts  noses."  Florio  stared  at  the 
sky  and  the  earth,  yawned,  and  swung  his 
heels  with  lordly  irresponsibility. 

The  peasant,  whose  back  ached,  be- 
trayed some  envy  in  the  dense  gutturals 
of  his  monosyllabic  response. 

Unexpectedly  and  unwarrantably  the 
amiable  trifler  now  grew  didactic,  began 
to  suggest,  to  instruct,  to  relate  how 
much  better  things  were  done  in  Prince 
Chardo's  noble  vineyards ;  in  fact,  to 
meddle  and  dictate. 

The  vintner  responded  wrathfully  that 
he  wanted  none  of  that. 

"If  you  really  don't  care  about  get- 
136 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

ting  on,"  —  Florio  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders. 

The  old  man  deliberately  seated  him- 
self on  the  ground,  drew  a  small  bottle 
of  beer  and  some  black  bread  from  a 
basket  behind  a  currant  bush,  and,  eye- 
ing his  environment  disapprovingly,  si- 
lently partook  of  his  Vesper.  Somewhat 
mollified,  he  remarked  succinctly  :  — 

"  Do  three  hundred  vines  and  you 
sweat." 

Between  other  appeasing  draughts,  he 
added  :  — 

"  Besides,  it 's  not  my  work.  I  've 
other  jobs.  I  'm  sixty-five  years  old  and 
my  back 's  stiff.  But  my  son  Vincenz 
has  broken  his  arm.  It 's  easy  to  sit  on 
a  wall  and  brag." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind  lending  a  hand  just 
while  you  are  at  your  beer,"  returned  the 
prince's  minion  affably,  jumped  from  the 
wall,  flung  off  his  coat,  seized  a  pick,  and 
being  twenty-two  years  old,  strong  and 
supple,  besides  having  most  urgent  rea- 
sons for  desiring  to  please,  set  to  work 
in  a  manner  that  vineyard  had  never  be- 
fore experienced. 

137 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

When  the  old  man  resumed  his  toil, 
Florio  still  continued.  He  was  rather 
tired,  he  said,  lolling  about  and  waiting 
for  the  prince.  He  not  only  worked 
steadily  and  swiftly  until  seven  o'clock, 
but  he  told  exactly  the  sort  of  safe  and 
creaking  joke  which  the  vintner  relished, 
and  finally  declared  he  was  welcome  to 
the  three  hours'  assistance.  It  was  not 
worth  talking  about  when  one  had  a 
good  situation. 

They  parted  on  the  best  of  terms,  after 
Florio  had  consented  to  help  again  on 
the  morrow  —  this  time  for  the  usual 
wages.  He  sauntered  off,  but  returned 
to  ask,  as  mere  afterthought,  if  the  man 
could  recommend  quiet  lodgings  not  too 
far  off.  Happening  to  have  a  cousin 
who  sometimes  let  rooms,  he  wrote  her 
name  and  address  at  Florio's  request,  — 
"so  she'll  know  I'm  all  right,"  the 
young  man  explained  pleasantly.  "  I  've 
a  mate  with  me,"  he  added,  "a  nice  fel- 
low, but  lazy.  He  'd  not  touch  your 
vineyard." 

"But  you'll  not  fail  me  to-morrow ?" 

"  Oh  dear,  no.  Only  one  thing  could 
138 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

prevent,  —  sudden  orders  from  Prince 
Chardo.  It  is  fair  to  tell  you  that. " 

The  peasant  nodded  approval.  He 
hated  strangers,  but  when  you  know  who 
is  who  it  is  different. 

That  night  as  Richard  lay  in  a  good 
bed  in  a  simple  but  clean  room,  Florio 
with  a  chuckle  asked  : — 

"  Is  your  Highness  quite  comfort- 
able?" 

"  Surprisingly." 

"  Does  Prince  Chardo  want  any  more 
to  eat  ?  There 's  a  lot  still  in  the  basket." 

"Oh  no,  thanks.  I'm  full  to  the 
brim.  Why  does  the  old  schoolboy  name 
amuse  you  on  a  sudden  so  immensely  ? " 

Florio  slapped  his  thigh  and  laughed 
uproariously. 

After  a  while  Richard  said  half  sadly : 

"  You  must  not  think  me  glum  if  I  do 
not  always  see  the  joke  nowadays.  I 
used  to,  you  know." 

"And  will  again,"  Florio  said  heartily, 
laughing  no  more.  "Besides,  my  jokes 
are  gaseous." 

"  He  is  so  awfully  fastidious,"  he  re- 
flected, "  has  so  many  notions,  it  would 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

be  confounded  bad  luck  if  he  should  hap- 
pen to  stroll  through  the  vineyards  to- 
morrow and  get  a  shock  to  his  nervous 
system." 

"See  here,  Chardo.  What  if  you 
should  stay  in  bed  to-morrow  and  have  a 
good  rest  ?  You  need  it  badly.  I  '11  tell 
the  woman  to  look  after  you." 

Richard  smiled  drearily. 

"  I  really  should  n't  mind  much.  It 's 
a  very  good  place.  The  best  —  except 
one  —  for  dummies." 

"You  are  weak,  and  it  will  do  you 
good,"  Florio  continued  equably.  "You 
must  begin  to  recover  your  strength." 

"  It 's  a  mystery  to  me  how  you  evolve 
food  and  beds  out  of  your  inner  conscious- 
ness." 

"  That 's  all  right,  little  one.  I  '11  tell 
you  about  it  later.  I  'm  going  to  evolve 
a  lot  of  things.  I  've  got  some  commer- 
cial transactions  on  hand.  Now  you  go 
to  sleep  and  don't  bother." 

Richard  was  too  exhausted  to  remon- 
strate. Florio  soon  lay  listening  to  his 
friend's  soft  breathing,  and  reviewed  the 
day.  Its  victories,  in  spite  of  a  certain 
140 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

diabolical  luck,  seemed  paltry  and  puerile 
enough,  now  that  the  excitement  was 
over  and  night's  merciless  inner  light 
shone  on  them.  Still  there  they  two 
wanderers  lay  housed  and  fed.  "  Im- 
probable " —  but  a  solid  fact.  The  bed 
was  short  for  Florio,  but  he  rather  en- 
joyed the  insistence  of  the  footboard, 
which  proved  possession. 

Beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt,  had  he, 
a  vagrant,  without  diplomatic  prelimina- 
ries simply  demanded  work  of  the  vint- 
ner, that  suspicious  and  crusty  individual 
would  have  sent  him  about  his  business. 
Had  he  frankly  intimated  that  he  was  a 
man  of  the  better  sort  of  associations, 
but,  owing  to  a  peculiar  combination  of 
adverse  circumstances,  homeless,  impe- 
cunious, sorely  in  need  of  employment, 
and  dead  eager  to  do  the  hardest  work 
for  the  meanest  wages  that  would  keep 
himself  and  his  ill  friend  afloat,  in  all 
probability  the  case  would  have  seemed 
so  utterly  disreputable  it  would  have 
forthwith  been  handed  over  to  the  police. 

"  '  Lord,  Lord,  how  this  world  is  given 
to  lying ! '  Yea,  verily,  it  doteth  upon  it," 
141 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

he  mused,  yet  a  certain  lankness  of  spirit 
had  succeeded  to  his  hollowness  of  stom- 
ach. How  could  he  pay  for  the  lodging 
requisitioned  in  this  high-handed  manner  ? 
How  buy  food  ?  How  sustain  Chardo's 
spirits  without  money  to  provide  him 
with  the  one  thing  needful  for  his  physi- 
cal and  moral  health  —  the  opportunity 
to  paint  in  peace  ?  How,  in  short,  tide 
over  until  Chardo  and  he  both  should 
find  their  grooves  ? 

Night  thoughts  are  naked  and  strong. 
Florio  surveyed  his  dubiously.  The 
house  was  in  the  suburbs.  Rustic  sounds 
entered  the  open  window,  among  them 
the  insistent  croaking  of  frogs,  which 
he  for  a  long  time  heard  mechanically. 
They  gradually  awakened  memories,  and 
finally  inspired  him  with  a  project,  absurd 
yet  reassuring,  which  set  him  heaving 
with  silent  laughter,  and  wishing  Chardo 
were  well  enough  to  be  waked  up  to  lis- 
ten. Still  it  was  wiser,  perhaps,  to  say 
nothing.  Chardo  was  fastidious. 

Two  days  later  no  night  thoughts  or 
misgivings  clouded  the  landscape.     The 
sun  was  up  and  so  was  Florio's  fun. 
142 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

"  How  great  men  spend  the  first  money 
earned  by  the  sweat  of  their  brows  — 
and  heaven  knows  mine  dripped  like 
Niobe  —  is  always  gloated  over  by  their 
biographers,"  whereupon  he  bought  at  a 
hatter's  a  nice  little  silvery  tin  bauble, 
a  prince's  coronet  such  as  serving-men 
wear  on  their  caps. 

"  What  a  blessed  thing  is  a  high  state 
of  civilization,"  reflected  the  philosopher, 
examining  it  contentedly  before  dropping 
it  into  his  pocket.  The  toy  had  two  little 
flexible  pointed  ends,  and  could  be  ad- 
justed or  removed  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye.  He  also  purchased  and  put  on  a 
towering  shirt-collar.  For  this  prome- 
nade he  had  taken  the  precaution  to  don 
Chardo's  coat,  it  having  no  hole  in  the 
elbow. 

"  Destiny  is  more  just  than  we  some- 
times acknowledge,  "  he  had,  while  dress- 
ing, informed  his  friend ;  "  the  seat  of  my 
trousers  is  intact." 

Strolling  on  he  fraternized  with  sun- 
dry newsboys  and  ne'er-do-wells.  The 
sort  of  information  he  desired  was  the 
easiest  in  the  world  to  obtain. 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

"  What  's  your  line  ? "  demanded  the 
harassed  director  of  a  small  variety 
theatre  fiercely,  for  he  was  still  writhing 
under  a  recent  bouleversement. 

"  Oh,  I  can  sit  up  and  beg  and  hold  a 
stick  on  my  nose,"  drawled  Florio,  twirl- 
ing his  young  mustache  and  cocking  his 
eye  over  his  new  collar. 

This  was  evidently  a  music-hall  favor- 
ite. 

The  tired  man's  tone  softened. 

"  Sung  much  ? " 

"  Rather ! " 

"Name?" 

"Varies." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  muttered  the 
director,  never  shy  of  a  celebrity  lying 
perdu.  "Fresh,  plenty  of  nerve,"  he 
reflected.  "  Step  this  way,  if  you  please. 
My  Kapellmeister  is  here  at  the  mo- 
ment." 

Indifferent,  a  trifle  arrogant  of  mien, 
inwardly  quaking,  yet  cheering  himself 
on  with  adaptations  of  ancient  wisdom 
such  as  "  Modesty  is  the  thief  of  time," 
"  Cheek  is  its  own  reward,"  "  Patient 
waiting  gathers  no  moss,"  "Coming 
144 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

events  are  soon  parted,"  "  It 's  never  too 
late  to  throw  stones,"  Florio  followed 
through  dark,  stuffy  and  tortuous  pas- 
sages, and  finally  found  himself  on  a 
small,  meagrely  lighted  stage  before  a 
dusky  auditorium  crowded  with  chairs 
and  tables  and  redolent  of  tobacco  and 
beer. 

A  little  greasy,  good-natured  man  sat 
at  a  piano. 

"  Just  let  me  try  my  paces,  will  you  ? " 

Florio  put  his  hands  on  his  hips, 
opened  his  audacious  mouth,  and  roared 
an  "  ah  "  scale  with  a  good  light  baritone 
fairly  well  trained. 

"Now  one  of  your  specialties,  if  you 
please,"  the  director,  ever  more  expan- 
sive, requested.  If  the  young  fellow  had 
a  hit,  it  would  really  be  a  godsend,  for 
that  little  vixen  Ninette  had  torn  up  her 
contract  in  his  face,  refused  point-blank 
to  appear  that  evening,  and  threatened 
unless  he  doubled  her  salary  to  go  over 
altogether  to  the  Colosseum.  The  public 
were  daft  about  her,  and  her  celebrated 
No.  14  promised  to  be  a  blank.  "  You  've 
brought  no  music  ? " 
I4S 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

"  I  've  been  on  a  walking  tour  with  a 
friend  and  not  yet  looked  up  my  luggage. 
I  don't  mind  singing  with  no  accompani- 
ment." 

Florio  nonchalantly  sauntered  toward 
the  footlights  and  began  "  The  Bullfrog's 
Roundelay,"  a  mocking,  nonsensical, 
wise,  delicious  thing,  written  by  his  dear 
dead  father,  and  set  to  music  by  the 
equally  happy  and  whimsical  genius  of 
a  friend  for  a  Christmas  merrymaking 
not  a  decade  ago.  It  seemed  to  Florio 
but  yesterday  that  he  was  one  of  a 
chorus  of  rapturous  urchins  who,  in  com- 
plete frog  garb,  crouched  on  their  hind 
legs  during  the  solo,  and  croaked  and 
gurgled  the  refrain,  while  hopping  after 
the  agile  mode  of  the  marshes.  As  he 
sang,  remembering  the  kindly  light  of 
other  days,  the  present  grievous  strait 
looked  black  enough,  and  in  his  throat 
were  divers  gulps  foreign  to  the  origi- 
nal composition,  but  he  acquitted  himself 
creditably  for  all  that,  and  the  director 
rubbed  his  fat  hands. 

"A  good  thing." 

"A  very  good  thing,"  echoed  the 
146 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

pleased  Kapellmeister.    "  I  '11  get  you  up 
a  fine  accompaniment,  sir.     Strings  ? " 

"  Strings,"  decreed  the  lofty  Florio, 
with  a  vile  desire  to  weep. 

"  You  sang  in  F."  The  Kapellmeister 
struck  some  chords  and  ran  prettily 
through  the  melody. 

"Just  give  me  some  sudden  double- 
croaks  in  the  refrain,  will  you  ?  Horn, 
flageolet,  bassoon,  and  that  sort  of  thing, 
you  know,"  suggested  the  singer,  as  one 
born  in  the  music-hall  purple. 

"  You  shall  have  them,  never  fear." 

"Capital!"  exulted  the  director. 
"They  are  mooing  at  the  Colosseum. 
All  it  wants  is  some  local  hits,"  —  pri- 
vately assured  it  would  bring  down  the 
house.  "  Hinkenfuss  must  write  you 
some  gags." 

"  I  always  do  my  own  gags,"  responded 
the  star  stiffly. 

"  So  much  the  better.  I  '11  merely 
give  you  a  few  hints,  since  you  are  a 
stranger.  I  '11  note  them  for  you.  Poli- 
tics, Court  gossip,  news  about  town,  —  all 
as  risky  as  possible,  you  know,  without 
being  actually  compromising." 
147 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

" Quite  my genre"  said  Florio  gravely, 
accompanying  the  exceedingly  urbane 
director  back  to  his  private  room. 

"As  to  terms,"  that  gentleman  re- 
marked suavely,  "  I  like  your  song  and 
don't  mind  paying  for  it,"  suggesting  a 
third  of  Ninette's  salary. 

Florio  looked  him  in  the  eyes,  put  on 
his  hat,  and  walked  toward  the  door. 

"  Oh,  come  now,  since  it 's  to  oblige 
you."  The  director  named  two  thirds  of 
the  capricious  little  dame's  emoluments. 

Florio  paused  on  the  threshold. 

"Good -morning,"  he  said  amiably. 
"I  '11  just  look  in  at  the  Colosseum." 

"Oh,  I  say,  come  back  You're  a 
spoiled  one,  I  see  plainly.  I  '11  not  deny 
I  want  your  song.  It 's  fresh." 

"  It 's  not  bad,"  Florio  admitted  negli- 
gently. "  In  fact,  it 's  one  of  my  best. 
It  is  Prince  Chardo's  favorite." 

"  Ah,  indeed  ! " 

"  Oh  dear,  yes.  I  Ve  sung  it  to  him 
in  private  audience  fifty  times  if  I  have 
once." 

The  singer,  under  the  name  of  Willy 
Winkel,  was  shortly  being  engaged  by 
148 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

written  contract  on  the  gratifying  terms 
paid  hitherto,  in  that  chaste  temple  of  art, 
only  to  Ninette,  the  darling  of  the  pub- 
lic. 

"  Minx,  she  's  led  me  a  pretty  dance ! 
She  '11  sing  in  a  different  key  to-morrow 
morning.  Six  months?"  he  asked  in- 
sidiously, glancing  up  from  his  desk  to 
the  youth  sitting  easily  on  the  corner  of 
a  table,  who  shook  his  head  oracularly. 

"  Na,  na !  I  have  larger  things  in 
view.  I  may  and  may  not  stay  with  you 
some  months,  but  I  can  engage  only  by 
the  week.  What  time  am  I  on  to-night  ? " 
he  asked  languidly. 

"No.  14,  between  ten  and  eleven.  Be 
here  at  ten,  if  you  please.  The  Kapell- 
meister may  want  you  a  moment.  Sec- 
ond entrance  left.  The  bills  are  out,  of 
course,  but  I  '11  announce  you  with  a 
rousing  placard." 

"  I  say !  It 's  awkward  about  my 
luggage.  I  had  forgotten.  I  can't  sing 
to-night." 

"  Donnerwetter  !  What  do  you  mean  ? " 

"Why,  my  frog  costum_e,  man  !  You 
don't  suppose  I  can  sing  my  song  with- 
149 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

out  my  own  complete  frog-mask  ?  You  '11 
have  to  wait  till  next  week." 

"  Wait  till  next  week !  Not  to  save 
your  soul !  Well,  you  artists  are  all  alike 
as  two  peas.  You  all  want  your  own  ca- 
pricious little  way,  don't  you  ?  No,  sir. 
You  don't  know  what  you  are  talking 
about.  You'll  find  a  first  -  class  frog- 
costume  in  your  dressing  -  room,  sir. 
Trust  me  for  that.  And  it.'s  an  admir- 
able idea,  Herr  Willy  Winkel,  and  so 
opportune,  for  the  Colosseum  has  a  cow 
on  —  three  nights  already.  Not  sing 
for  want  of  your  own  costume?  You 
shall  be  satisfied,  sir.  Only  look  in  early 
enough  to  try  it." 

Florio  sat  for  a  while  on  a  bench  in  a 
park  and  played  with  his  cap.  His  fea- 
tures wore  the  happy,  artless  smile  we 
love  to  see  upon  the  face  of  youth. 
Stepping  into  a  shop,  he  begged  to  be 
allowed  to  glance  at  a  directory,  from 
which  he  copied  a  long  list  of  picture 
dealers. 

"  Have  you  anything  by  Richard  Burg- 
dorf?"  he  inquired  of  each  and  all  of 
them. 

150 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

They  regretted  to  say  they  had  never 
even  heard  of  him. 

"Ah?     Indeed!" 

Polite  but  unmistakable  surprise  upon 
the  open  countenance  of  the  young  man, 
obviously  the  intelligent  servant  of  a 
magnate.  They  noted  the  name  of  the 
artist. 

Most  of  these  shops  were  too  sumptu- 
ous, too  lavishly  provided  with  supernu- 
meraries, to  suit  the  delicate  poise  of 
Florio's  designs.  Finally  he  found  in  a 
quiet  street  a  place  of  modest  yet  appar- 
ently prosperous  character,  although  its 
rosy  young  proprietor  was  not  too  busy 
to  be  standing  at  his  door  gazing  benevo- 
lently at  the  passers-by. 

Florio  examined  the  pictures  in  the 
window. 

"Have  you  anything  by  that  very 
remarkable  young  painter  Richard  Burg- 
dorf?" 

"Never  heard  of  him,"  replied  the 
other,  but  not  in  the  Olympian  manner 
of  his  predecessors. 

Florio  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"Well,  you  see,"  explained  the  young 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

man  frankly,  attracted  by  the  other's 
face  and,  being  himself  of  humble  extrac- 
tion, quite  at  ease  with  a  person  of  that 
class,  "I  am  a  beginner.  I  've  always 
been  in  frames.  But  I  'm  fond  of  pic- 
tures and  am  gradually  working  over. 
They  say  I  'm  not  a  bad  judge.  Of 
course  I  have  a  good  deal  to  learn. 
Won't  you  come  in  and  look  about  ? 
I  Ve  got  one  or  two  nice  things,  and 
some  fine  engravings  I  'd  be  happy  to 
show  you." 

"Oh,  guilelessness,"  sighed  Florio, 
"  how  beautiful  thou  art !  To  think  I, 
too,  was  once  like  that,  before  I  got  hun- 
gry and  hardened." 

"  You  have  painter's  materials,  I  see," 
he  said  pleasantly.  "Very  tolerable 
stock." 

"Oh,  yes.     Everything." 

"  He 's  a  good  fellow.  It 's  a  pity.  It 's 
almost  like  lying  to  the  blessed  granny 
of  my  dreams.  Whereas  the  thrifty 
husbandman  and  the  serpentine  director 
got  not  a  whit  more  than  they  deserved. 
Still "  — 

"We  shall  soon  be  wanting  a  lot  of 
152 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

things  in  that  line,  I  suppose,"  he  ob- 
served carelessly.  "My  master,  Prince 
Char  do,  paints." 

"Should  be  honored  by  his  High- 
ness' patronage,"  returned  the  young 
man,  erect,  brisk,  and  respectful. 

"Just  hand  me  your  business  card, 
will  you  ?  I  '11  try  to  remember  to  come 
again.  I  always  attend  to  such  things. 
Of  course  we  are  besieged  by  tradespeo- 
ple, and  being  new  here  "  —  he  muttered 
vaguely. 

"  What  painter  was  it  you  asked  for  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  —  Burgdorf.  Richard  Burg- 
dorf.  My  master  is  uncommonly  inter- 
ested in  his  work,  thinks  the  world  will 
hear  great  things  of  him  yet.  By  the 
way,  could  you  recommend  me  a  studio, 
a  quiet,  simple  place  ?  The  prince  will 
be  wanting  something  of  the  sort.  He 
naturally  prefers  not  to  work  among  colo- 
nies of  painters  in  great  art  buildings. 
His  Highness  works  very  steadily,  you 
understand  ;  needs  a  good  studio,  but  se- 
cluded, where  he  can  go  about  incognito." 

"  I  know  just  the  place,"  exclaimed 
the  young  man  with  animation.  "An 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

artist   left  suddenly   only  this  morning. 
But  it 's  always  in  demand.     If  you  don't 
hurry  you  '11  not  get  it." 
"  I  '11  hurry  fast  enough." 
"  I  '11  write  the  address  for  you." 
"  Here,  — just  write  it  on  your  card." 
"  It 's  not  far.     Up  this  street  to  the 
fountain.     Then  turn  to  the  left,  up  the 
hill  and  the  long  stone  steps  to  the  gar- 
dens.    They  are   quiet   old   people  —  a 
gardener  and  his  wife.     You  '11  find  no- 
thing so  good  in  town.     A  large  atelier 
and  sleeping-room  adjoining,  built  up  there 
in  the  garden  by  a  painter  who  searched 
far  and  wide  before  he  found  the  light 
and  conditions  that  suited  him,  and  then 
died   before    he    could    move    in,    poor 
chap ! " 

"  Peace  to  his  ashes  !  I  'm  obliged  to 
you.  You  've  done  us  a  greater  service 
than  you  are  aware." 

"  It  is  in  my  own  interest.  I  shall  hope 
to  see  you  often.  Nothing  at  all  to- 
day?" 

"Well,  I  hardly  know.  I  might  call 
in  on  my  way  back  for  some  canvas,  a 
small  one.  Stretch  it,  please,  about  that 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

size.  Just  put  up  a  few  paints,  too,  and 
some  brushes,  the  usual  thing,  please. 
I  don't  really  know  what  is  needed." 
He  made  an  easy  movement  toward  his 
pocket. 

"  Oh,  never  mind.  Pay  with  the  larger 
order." 

"  Bless  you,  honest  Johannes  Mezler, 
all  the  days  of  your  pilgrimage!"  said 
the  schemer  to  himself,  as  he  walked 
away.  "  You  shall  never  lose  one  penny 
through  me.  After  all,  it  is  not  as  if 
Chardo  were  not  a  born  genius.  That 
he  is,  —  I  swear  it." 

Armed  with  the  glittering  fib  on  his 
cap,  together  with  trusty  Johannes  Mez- 
ler's  recommendation,  Florio  engaged 
the  rooms  without  difficulty.  Under  the 
pledge  of  secrecy  he  confided  Prince 
Chardo' s  name,  even  the  long  Latin  one, 
to  the  gardener,  and  urged  the  necessity 
of  leaving  the  highborn  gentleman  en- 
tirely to  his  own  devices  ;  for  although 
of  winning  and  amiable  character  he  was 
singularly  eccentric,  and  particularly,  to 
preserve  his  incognito,  would  hesitate  at 
nothing. 

'55 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

The  gardener  sagely  replied  that  sov- 
ereigns and  such  had  mostly  nowadays  a 
screw  loose  in  the  upper  story.  All  he 
and  his  old  woman  cared  about  was  steady 
pay  and  a  quiet  tenant  on  the  premises, 
for  a  carousing  painter  such  as  they'd 
last  had  they  could  not  abide. 

Florio  found  Richard  doubled  up  in  an 
attitude  of  concentrated  gloom. 

"  Herei  little  one !  Now  show  the  stuff 
you  're  made  of." 

Chardo  sprang  up,  glorified. 

"  I  don't  ask  where  you  got  it.  I  don't 
much  care  if  you  stole  it.  Look  !  Just 
look  at  them ! "  thrusting  under  his 
friend's  nose  some  maniacal  black  streaks 
which  to  the  artist  meant  two*  bare-legged 
urchins  bathed  in  spring  sunshine  and 
fishing  in  a  brook.  "  Are  n't  they  beau- 
ties !  "  He  smiled  ecstatically.  "  I  'm 
fairly  aching  to  get  at  them.  If  you 
could  have  seen  the  light  this  morning  ! 
They  are  coming  to-morrow.  I  '11  be 
there  waiting  on  the  opposite  bank.  And 
you  've  got  me  all  these  things  ?  Oh, 
Florio,  I  was  just  ready  to  curse  God  and 
die.  I  cannot  live  unless  I  paint." 
156 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

"  Live  and  paint,  Chardo  !  Paint  some 
sketchy  little  things,  and  I  swear  I  '11  sell 
them  for  you,  every  one.  Then  you  can 
paint  the  great  one.  Now  you  and  I  are 
going  out  to  have  a  good  hot  Christian 
supper  and  some  beer.  Hear  the  chink- 
chink?  I  earned  it." 

"But  how?" 

"  It 's  all  right,  I  tell  you.  Just  give 
me  my  head  for  a  little  while.  Some  day 
I  '11  tell  you  some  things  that  will  make 
your  toes  curl.  You  stick  to  your  last. 
How  long  do  you  want  to  paint  the  beg- 
gars ?  Of  course  you  can't  tell  how  long 
they  '11  come.  Will  a  week  do  ?  Well, 
we'll  stay  here  a  week.  Then  we  will 
honorably  pay  our  bill  and  move  on  to 
better  things.  Stepping  heavenwards, 
you  know.  Don't  look  incredulous  ;  you 
pain  me,  my  son.  It  is  almost  as  if  you 
were  aspersing  my  commercial  integrity." 


Ill 

Willy  Winkel  was  a  "  screaming  suc- 
cess."    The  public   said  the  best  thing 
about  him  was  he  never  was  at  a  loss  for 
is? 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

a  new  gag.  In  his  speckled  green  mum- 
mery he  warbled  and  croaked  and  flopped 
several  months  with  unabated  vigor,  be- 
fore he  felt  that  he  had  amassed  suffi- 
cient ill-gotten  gains  to  permit  him  to 
retire  from  those  gilded  halls  and  tread 
the  humble  and  less  remunerative  path 
of  literature.  But  beyond  question  the 
Bullfrog  gallantly  filled  the  breach.  He 
enabled  Florio  to  meet  decently  and  in 
order  the  manifold  indebtedness  he  had 
assumed  with  such  temerity  ;  to  nourish 
Prince  Chardo  with  blood-producing  vi- 
ands and  clothe  him  in  suitable  raiment ; 
to  lavish  upon  angel  granny  kerchiefs, 
sugar-loaves,  snuff,  and  caps,  against  the 
time  when  he  could  more  substantially 
respond  to  her  gracious  hospitality. 
One  day,  indeed,  moved  doubtless  by 
pangs  of  conscience,  he  hunted  up  his 
surly  vintner  and  presented  him  with  a 
portly  pipe  and  some  tobacco,  yet  could 
not  resist  the  temptation  to  wear,  even 
upon  this  quasi  -  penitential  pilgrimage, 
the  coronet  of  princely  servitude.  It 
seemed  but  to  cap  the  climax,  he  assured 
himself  apologetically.  One  must  al- 
158 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

ways  dot  one's  t's.  In  short,  the  Frog 
paid  their  bills,  gratified  all  their  simple 
tastes,  and  fairly  started  them  on  the 
road  to  prosperity,  but  ah,  how  Florio 
loathed  him  ! 

Chardo  looked  anxiously  at  his  friend 
when  regularly  about  yawning  time  he 
began  to  mumble  that  he  'd  got  to  meet 
a  man,  absented  himself  for  an  hour  or 
two,  and  reappeared,  somewhat  flushed, 
long  after  midnight. 

"  You  are  not  playing,  are  you,  old  fel- 
low ?  "  Richard  asked  suddenly  one  night, 
as  Florio  came  in.  "  You  cannot  be." 

"  Playing  ?  "  Florio  turned  very  red. 
"  How  ?  Where  ?  What  in  the  deuce 
do  you  mean  ? " 

"  Why  —  cards,  of  course." 

"Oh,  cards.  Well,  that  is  an  idea. 
Cards?  Heaven  forbid."  With  a  great 
laugh  :  "  I  should  say  not.  Don't  bother, 
little  one."  After  a  while  with  beautiful 
candor  :  "  It  is  merely  some  work  I  am 
doing  for  a  man  who  cannot  give  it  me 
any  other  time.  He  pays  me  well,  so 
it 's  worth  while." 

Chardo,  never   inquisitive,    still   weak 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

and  greatly  preoccupied,  troubled  his 
head  no  more  about  his  friend's  noctur- 
nal engagement,  and  somehow  got  the 
fixed  impression  it  was  of  a  literary  na- 
ture, —  writing  at  dictation,  revision,  or 
something  of  the  sort. 

"He  seems  to  be  a  rabid  smoker  of 
vile  tobacco,"  the  invalid  once  murmured 
drowsily  from  his  pillow,  and  Florio 
chuckled  as  he  pulled  off  his  shoes. 

Again  later,  in  the  studio  one  day,  the 
painter,  glancing  at  a  newspaper,  ex- 
claimed with  a  certain  resentment :  — 

"  Why,  here 's  a  chap  pretending  to 
sing  a  frog-song.  Willy  Winkel  is  his 
sweet  little  tootums-name.  Tremendous 
success,  it  says.  I  don't  believe  he  can 
hold  a  candle  to  you.  Let 's  go  and 
hear  him." 

Florio,  his  back  turned,  made  a  wry 
face  as  at  some  nauseous  compound,  and 
replied,  with  his  head  out  the  window  :  — 

"We  cannot  afford  luxuries  just  yet, 
can  we,  little  one  ?  Besides,  the  man  is 
probably  a  blank  idiot." 

"No  doubt,"  acquiesced  his  Serene 
Highness. 

1 60 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

Sometimes  all  things  work  together 
for  the  naughty.  Florio's  frivolous 
music-hall  experiences  suggested  to  him 
a  series  of  sketches  which  he  called 
"Behind  the  Scenes."  The  first  of  these 
papers  he  submitted  in  person  to  the 
editor  of  a  large  journal  the  day  after 
the  frog's  debut.  The  great  man  hap- 
pened to  be  suffering  from  a  plague  of 
anaemic  contributions.  He  was  of  a 
robust  and  sanguine  temperament,  and 
it  annoyed  him  to  see  his  young  col- 
leagues floundering  in  pessimism. 

As  Florio  entered  the  sanctum  the 
amiable  dictator  was  roundly  asserting 
that  Schopenhauer,  von  Hartmann,  and 
even  Nietsche  were  well  enough  in  their 
way,  but  no  fitting  food  for  journalistic 
babes.  Ibsen  he  profoundly  admired,  yet 
could  shoot  him  in  cold  blood  for  the 
huge  mental  indigestion  he  had  caused 
among  feeble-minded  disciples.  As  for 
Max  Nordau,  somebody  ought  to  wring 
his  little  neck.  "  Vital,  full-blooded  things 
are  what  we  want."  At  this  moment  in 
came  Florio,  whatever  he  lacked,  preem- 
inently vital,  his  article  no  less.  The 
161 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

autocrat  raised  his  eyebrows,  smiled, 
liked  it  and  its  author,  gave  him  sugges- 
tions, counsel,  and,  still  better,  regular 
work.  The  relationship  proved  of  value 
to  both.  Chardo,  fully  persuaded  his 
friend  was  one  of  the  most  brilliant 
young  men  the  world  had  ever  seen,  was 
yet  astonished  that  his  first  journalis- 
tic work  was  so  remunerative,  for  they 
wanted  for  nothing. 

Nemesis  ought  obviously  to  have  over- 
taken Florio,  but  in  this  instance  was 
unpunctual.  The  classic  dame  some- 
times misses  our  modern  connections. 
It  is  true  he  imagined  her  dogging  his 
footsteps,  and  he  frequently  had  to  real- 
ize that  the  way  of  the  transgressor  is 
hard.  But  just  as  his  perjuries  seemed 
on  the  point  of  being  found  out,  some 
fresh  burst  of  inspired  impudence  would 
rescue  him.  His  progeny  of  fibs  pros- 
pered amazingly  well,  never  jostled  one 
another  rudely  and  put  their  progenitor 
to  shame. 

His  most  precarious  task  was  to  man- 
age the  prince,  who,  as  his  health  im- 
proved and  spirits  rose,  would  persist  in 
162 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

slapping  Florio  on  the  back  at  inoppor- 
tune moments,  throwing  an  affectionate 
arm  across  his  shoulders,  as  the  friends 
strolled  toward  evening  in  the  garden, 
even  condescending  to  call  him  "old 
boy  "  or  "  Dumpling,"  —  a  nursery  name 
resulting  from  certain  quondam  contours 
which  the  years  had  kindly  obliterated, 

—  when  Florio  would  shoot  a  sneaking 
glance  at  the  worthy  old  couple  in  their 
cottage  porch,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  It 's 
only  his  little  eccentric  way  !  "  and  they 
would  nod  astutely. 

But  Florio  enjoyed  exquisite  moments 
of  compensation.  He  liked  to  stand  at 
an  open  window,  the  cigarette  box  in  his 
hand,  and  inquire  in  the  most  solicitous 
and  devoted  manner  conceivable  :  — 

"  Does  your  Highness  deign  to 
smoke  ? " 

His  Highness,  working  away  as  usual 
at  a  picture,  would  rarely  turn  his  head, 
but  merely  say,  in  his  pleasant,  low 
voice  :  — 

"What  an  incorrigible  ass  you  are!" 

—  "  quite  prince-like,"  the  gardener  told 
his  wife. 

163 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

Chardo  not  being  an  infant,  a  convict, 
or  a  maniac,  could  hardly  be  locked  up 
for  safe-keeping.  Like  other  young  men 
he  had  the  inveterate  habit  of  going 
where  he  pleased.  Whenever  Florio 
found  the  rooms  deserted,  he  would  pace 
them  restlessly  until  he  saw  Richard 
striding  in  with  still  unclouded  brow. 
He  not  unnaturally  strayed  into  picture- 
exhibitions,  chatted  with  painters,  and 
now  and  again,  to  Florio' s  grim  despair, 
went  of  an  evening  to  drink  a  glass  of 
beer  in  a  cheerful  place  frequented  by 
the  fraternity.  If  a  stray  artist  chanced 
to  walk  into  the  studio,  he  always  found 
that  other  fellow  unsocial,  if  not  surly. 
Policemen  and  postmen,  in  the  innocu- 
ous discharge  of  their  duties,  occasioned 
Florio  many  not  insignificant  frights. 

In  every  reasonable  and  unreasonable 
way  did  he  seek  to  avert  the  ever  im- 
pending disastrous  carambolage  of  Burg- 
dorf  and  Prince  Chardo,  at  least  until 
the  former  young  gentleman  had  built 
up  a  reputation  upon  legitimate  founda- 
tions. 

But  the  conspirator  fared  better  than 
164 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

his  deserts  and  escaped  with  his  fears  and 
forebodings.  Luckily  for  him,  Richard 
for  the  most  part  desired  nothing  better 
than  to  shun  mankind  and  paint.  Re- 
served, sensitive,  moody,  inspired  by 
large  hopes  and  chafing  at  the  prolonged 
delay  in  their  fruition,  proud  of  Florio's 
success,  yet  longing  to  bear  his  own  share 
of  their  burdens,  he  worked  unceasingly, 
bided  his  time,  lived  the  life  of  a  hermit, 
and  cared  for  no  society  but  that  of  his 
friend. 

Yet  if  the  painter  so  much  as  stopped 
to  look  at  something  in  Johannes  Mez- 
ler's  window,  Florio  shivered  with  appre- 
hension, and  would  resort  to  the  meanest 
inventions  and  the  longest  way  round  to 
avoid  that  street. 

"  I  saw  Prince  Chardo  yesterday," 
Mezler  announced  one  morning  with 
some  complacency.  "  I  had  a  good  stare 
at  him." 

"  Oh,  did  you  ! " 

"  Handsome  fellow,  is  n't  he  ?    No  end 

aristocratic.     So  pale,  and  a  bit  haughty. 

Would  n't  do  for  you  and  me,  eh  ?  —  but 

just  suits  him.     He  stood  a  long  time  at 

165 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

my  window.  He  almost  came  in.  Then 
he  changed  his  mind." 

"  Oh,  did  he  !  " 

"  I  was  just  about  to  run  and  open  the 
door  for  him  when  he  went  on." 

Recovering  from  his  alarm,  Florio  re- 
plied with  singular  vehemence :  — 

"  It  is  lucky  for  you  that  you  did  not, 
Mezler.  He  does  not  like  that  sort  of 
thing  at  all.  Never  open  doors  for  him, 
never !  The  prince  likes  to  open  his 
own  doors.  Never  take  any  notice  of 
him  at  all.  If  he  should  come  in  here, 
be  as  indifferent  as  you  can.  Never  on 
any  account  say  your  Highness.  If  you 
should  make  any  such  slip,  he  would 
never  enter  your  place  again  or  let  me. 
I  told  you  he  was  eccentric.  He  insists 
upon  the  strictest  incognito.  Do  you 
ever  see  me  in  livery  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  understand  all  that.  I  was  n't 
born  yesterday.  I  '11  be  very  careful,  you 
may  be  sure.  I  must  say  I  like  his  ap- 
pearance, and  I  believe  you  've  got  an 
awfully  good  berth.  He  seems  rather 
fond  of  you,  do  you  know  ?  I  noticed 
his  smiling  and  gracious  manner  as  you 
1 66 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

were  walking  by  last  week.  After  all,  it 
is  no  wonder." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  Florio  returned 
modestly.  "You  see  we  are  about  the 
same  age  and  grew  up  together,  as  it 
were.  That  is  to  say,  I  was  permitted 
to  play  with  his  Highness  when  we  were 
boys." 

"  Oh,  anybody  can  see  with  half  an  eye 
that  you  have  enjoyed  unusual  advan- 
tages," retorted  Mezler  encouragingly. 
"  I  noticed  that  the  day  we  met." 

Having  taken  the  precaution  to  re- 
stretch  the  Boys  Fishing  —  fearing  Mez- 
ler might  have  some  occult  method 
of  recognizing  his  own  wares — Florio 
brought  it  down,  and  said  amiably  :  — 

"  I  thought  perhaps  you  might  like  to 
see  this.  It  is  one  of  Richard  Burgdorf's 
sketches.  The  prince  happens  to  have 
several  at  his  rooms  just  now." 

"  Oh,  that  is  a  good  thing.  I  like  that. 
I  wish  I  could  exhibit  it  in  my  window." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  I  must  ask  the 
prince,  of  course.  I  suppose  I  can  leave 
it  an  hour  or  so." 

Mezler  met  him  upon  his  return  with 
167 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

the  somewhat  embarrassed  announcement 
that  a  rich  customer  had  taken  a  fancy  to 
the  little  painting,  particularly  when  in- 
formed it  was  by  a  young  painter  of  note, 
a  prot6g£  of  his  Highness  Prince  Chardo. 

"I  hardly  knew  what  to  say.  I  sug- 
gested a  pretty  big  price,  just  as  a  dam- 
per, you  know.  She  instantly  declared 
she  'd  pay  it.  She  's  a  person  I  don't  like 
to  disappoint.  I  explained  it  was  not  put 
into  my  hands  to  sell,  and  the  decision 
rested  entirely  with  Prince  Chardo,  but 
that  only  made  her  wild." 

"  Well,"  said  Florio  dispassionately,  "  I 
suppose  all  I  can  do  is  to  go  and  ask 
him." 

Off  he  went  at  a  great  pace  two  miles 
straight  up  a  hill  and  two  miles  down 
again,  and  exercised  heroic  self-control 
not  to  break  into  a  war  dance  in  the  pub- 
lic thoroughfares  ;  for  beyond  all  things 
he  longed  that  Chardo,  after  his  strug- 
gles, his  long  illness,  his  helplessness,  en- 
forced restraint  and  champing  of  the  bit, 
should  have  the  joy  of  selling  a  picture 
and  feeling  his  own  strength. 

"  His  Highness  has  not  the  least  ob- 
168 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

j  action, "  Florio  in  due  time  announced 
blandly.  "  He  might  perhaps  have  kept 
the  sketch  himself,  but  that  is  no  matter. 
No  price  is  intimated,  and  the  artist  is 
not  at  the  moment  accessible.  Of  course 
it 's  a  slight  thing.  Still  —  it  's  a  Burg- 
dorf.  The  prince  thinks  under  the  cir- 
cumstances you  ought  to  set  rather  a 
fancy  value  on  it,  with  a  handsome  com- 
mission for  yourself,  of  course." 

"  Hurrah !  Won't  I  ?  And  if  by  hook 
or  by  crook  you  can  get  me  another  little 
Burgdorf,  you  '11  be  doing  me  the  greatest 
possible  service,  for  I  know  a  woman 
who  will  neither  eat  nor  sleep  until  she 
has  one  a  size  larger  than  the  Boys  Fish- 
ing." 

"  Count  upon  me,  Mezler." 

The  twain  concocted  a  price  which  the 
lady  proudly  paid  in  solid  coin  of  the 
realm.  Two  more  charming  little  Burg- 
dorfs  the  delighted  Mezler  sold  at  roman- 
tic rates.  Discreet  but  strongly  com- 
mendatory paragraphs  about  the  young 
artist  now  began  to  appear  simultaneously 
in  many  papers  and  were  largely  copied 
by  exchanges.  Mezler  kindly  showed 
169 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

them  to  Florio,  who  said  they  surprised 
him  not  at  all.  But  those  journals  never 
lay  about  the  studio. 

From  the  day  the  Boys  Fishing  was 
sold,  Chardo  seemed  to  take  a  new  lease 
of  life.  His  step  became  buoyant,  his 
bearing  erect,  his  eye  calm,  his  laugh 
jolly,  and  his  large  picture  grew  apace. 

Florio,  covertly  watching  the  transfor- 
mation, felt  warm  and  stout  of  heart,  and 
repented  naught  of  his  sins.  But  as  he 
was  slaving  much  in  those  days  —  with 
his  writing  and  his  nauseating  night  oc- 
cupation, beside  piloting  his  fibs  —  and 
Chardo  was  now  fortuitously  launched,  it 
happened  that  the  star  known  as  Willy 
Winkel  disappeared  suddenly  from  the 
music-hall  firmament,  to  the  chagrin  of 
the  public,  still  more  of  the  director,  who 
declared  with  pecttis  he  would  engage 
him  again  "  at  any  time  and  on  his  own 
terms,  for  the  Frog  or  any  new  creation." 

Willy  Winkel  thanked  him  and  bade 
him  farewell  amicably,  as  one  who  may 
look  in  on  the  morrow;  for,  Florio  re- 
flected, in  the  marvelous  variety  enter- 
tainment which  we  call  life,  it  is  always 
170 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

well  to  have,  as  sailors  say,  something 
"to  windward." 

Soon  he  was  heard  in  the  studio  jo- 
vially humming  :  — 

Ug-gl-Ioo  ! 

Ker-chunk,  ker-chunk  ! 
Ug-gl-loo! 

for  now  he  loved  his  frog  again,  and  that 
is  human  nature. 

"How  jolly  good  that  sounds!"  ex- 
claimed Chardo.  "  Do  you  know  you  've 
not  sung  it  in  an  age  ?  " 

Hardly  a  score  of  months  from  the  day 
the  beggars  were  coming  to  town,  they 
sat  one  evening  on  the  deck  of  a  Mes- 
sagerie  steamer  bound  for  the  Far  East, 
their  way  and  work  clearly  appointed  un- 
der sufficiently  liberal  conditions.  Char- 
do's  first  real  picture  had  been  snapped 
up  by  the  Dresden  Gallery,  —  one  of 
the  incredible  events  which  occasionally 
confound  the  prudent,  and  prevent  them 
from  becoming  altogether  too  bumptious. 

It  was  dark  and  quiet.  Florio  opened 
his  heart,  and  made  clean  confession. 
When  he  had  finished,  Chardo  was  si- 
lent. 

171 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

"  I  thought  it  might  amuse  you.  Some- 
how it  does  n't  sound  very  funny.  One's 
jokes  so  often  fall  upon  the  buttered 
side." 

He  was  right.  It  did  not  sound  funny. 
Still  Chardo  did  not  speak. 

At  length  Florio  said  with  curious  shy- 
ness :  — 

"  I  hope  you  don't  mind  too  much, 
Chardo.  Of  course  it  was  awfully  low 
down.  But  so  were  we.  And  oh,  did  n't 
the  lies  boom  ?  " 

But  Chardo,  viewing  the  long  perspec- 
tive, saw  neither  fun  nor  fibs.  Some- 
thing of  which  Florio  was  quite  uncon- 
scious streamed  warm  and  radiant  upon 
the  vista  and  revealed  nothing  petty  or 
base. 

The  painter  reached  over  and  wrung 
his  friend's  hand  abruptly,  got  up,  walked 
off  and  stood  awhile  alone,  returned  still 
unrhetorical  until  finally  he  muttered  :  — 

"It  must  have  been  a  terribly  hard 
pull,  and  I  —  a  thankless  lump  !  " 

"Stuff!" 

"But  of. course  it's  like  you,  Dump- 
ling." 

172 


PUSS-IN-BOOTS 

«  Ug  -  gl  -  loo  !  Kerchunk  !  Got  an- 
other cigarette,  little  one  ? " 

The  two-  young  men  stood  silent,  vastly 
content  with  their  lot  and  each  other, 
and  listened  to  the  throb  of  the  ship  bear- 
ing them  onward  toward  their  brave 
hopes. 

At  length  Florio,  half  laughing,  yet 
not  quite  at  ease,  remarked :  — 

"  Your  Highness  need  not  henceforth 
be  anxious  about  me.  It 's  not  a  chronic 
complaint,  you  understand.  I  really 
don't  think  the  disease  has  struck  in 
deep.  Apparently  it  has  not  yet  seized 
my  vitals.  It  was  only  an  acute  attack 
of"- 

"Of  the  literary  quality,"  suggested 
Chardo  cheerfully. 

173 


THE   YOUTH   THAT   NEVER 
SMILED 

I 

'FTER  writing  doggedly  all  day, 
toward  evening  she  saw  that 
her  work  was  bad,  and  wished 
it  and  she  had  never  been  born.  Near 
the  house  was  a  breezy  height,  whither 
she  often  fled  to  fight  out  her  battles, 
gentle  feminine  sobbing  in  a  corner  being 
to  her  an  unattainable  grace. 

Lost  in  thought,  she  went  up  the  long 
flight  of  rough  stone  steps  between  the 
rich  vineyards  clothing  the  hillside.  On 
a  bench,  as  she  passed,  sat  a  slight  soli- 
tary figure  of  which  she  was  but  vaguely 
aware.  The  wind  swept  strong  across 
the  broad-backed  hill,  and  the  October 
sun  was  low.  Circling  the  park,  she 
hardly  heard  the  boisterous  shouts  of 
children  from  the  crater-like  playground, 
and  responded  but  mechanically  to  the 
- 174 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

working  -  men,  who,  tramping  heavily 
homeward  in  little  squads,  pulled  off  their 
caps  with  a  civil  good  -  evening  and  a 
curious  but  not  unfriendly  stare  at  the 
black-robed  woman  they  were  wont  to 
meet  hurrying  along  the  windy  hilltop. 

The  holy  men  of  old  walked  with  God 
upon  the  mountain  and  came  down  sanc- 
tified. In  her  sorrowful,  most  restless 
heart,  where  revolt  and  submission  rose 
and  fell  like  great  successive  all  -  sub- 
merging waves,  —  where  problems  solved 
yesterday  confronted  her  to-day  with  new- 
born vitality,  and  the  same  hot  battles 
were  raging  incessantly,  never  lost  and 
never  won,  holiness  had  indeed  no  abid- 
ing-place. Yet  in  her  pagan  passionate 
way,  she  too  had  erected  her  altar  to  the 
Unknown  God  and  was  seeking  Him  on 
the  height. 

She  was  what  they  called  resigned. 
She  could  listen,  with  a  somewhat 
wooden  countenance,  to  the  amiable 
platitudes  of  consolation,  and  answer  in 
dry-eyed  automatic  fashion,  when  people 
solicitously  inquired  as  to  her  health,  her 
feelings,  and  cross-examined  her  —  al- 
175 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

though  then,  indeed,  she  wondered  why 
there  was  no  cave  into  which  she  could 
creep  and  die  like  any  other  wounded 
animal — even  as  to  the  details  of  her 
tragedy.  Her  way  of  meeting  the 
veneered  brutality  of  sentiment  which 
obtains  in  polite  society  was  however 
less  due  to  virtuous  striving  after  self- 
control  than  to  the  ironical  imperturba- 
bility of  her  physical  machinery.  Hers 
was  a  good  machine ;  there  could  be  no 
doubt  of  that.  It  gazed  at  visitors.  It 
opened  its  mouth  on  time  and  uttered 
correct  commonplaces.  It  needed  no 
repairs.  Altogether,  it  ran  as  smoothly 
as  if  it  belonged  to  some  other  soul — to 
a  placid  soul  that  had  no  history. 

She  ought  to  be  very  thankful  for  her 
wonderful  health,  they  were  always  assur- 
ing her.  Grief  was  quite  a  different 
thing  when  one  was  delicate.  Where- 
upon the  machine  would  duly  emit  a 
species  of  assent.  But  the  inner  spirit 
of  the  woman,  inaccessible  and  remote, 
if  it  deigned  to  listen  at  all  to  their  unc- 
tuous prattle,  would  wonder  what  they 
meant  and  how  they  knew. 
176 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

For  some  women  there  were  benevo- 
lent drugs,  a  merciful  forgetfulness  in 
fainting  and  languor,  and  pain  that 
might  be  temporarily  absolute  mon- 
arch. Whereas  strength  —  her  strength 
—  meant  throbbing  intensity  of  life;  the 
power  to  feel  and  recall  unremittingly ; 
to  thrill  with  anguish  in  every  nerve  and 
fibre ;  and  to  gaze  wide-eyed  upon  desola- 
tion. Did  they  imagine  health  meant 
anything  less  ?  But  what  mattered  their 
theories  ?  Nor  was  it  Lethe  that  she 
craved.  Ah,  no  !  In  memory  lay  agony, 
but  also  —  in  those  most  rare  moments 
when  her  stormy  heart  grew  still  enough 
to  receive  it  —  ineffable  benediction. 

What  could  she  still  desire  ?  It  was  a 
year  now  that  she  had  been  battering, 
with  puny  yet  importunate  hands,  at  the 
portals  of  manifold  religions  and  philoso- 
phies ;  groping  in  darkness,  listening  in 
the  great  silence,  fancying  in  some  up- 
lifted moment  that  she  caught  a  faint, 
far-off  response,  an  echo  from  the  Infi- 
nite, but  hearing  oftenest  only  the  sound 
of  her  own  despair. 

What  was  she  seeking  now  and  ever, 
177 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

without  respite  ?  Not  a  personal  God 
on  a  white  throne,  for  He  had  vanished 
with  other  visions.  But  whatever  might 
be  left  —  strength  to  endure,  courage, 
relief  from  her  own  turbulence ;  and 
knowledge  —  yes,  knowledge  she  unceas- 
ingly longed  for.  The  knowledge  of  the 
mysteries  of  life  and  death  and  anguish, 
and  love  strongest  of  all.  The  know- 
ledge unrevealed  to  the  mightiest,  denied 
to  Plato  and  to  Shakespeare,  she,  rash 
and  feeble  woman,  craved  unceasingly. 

She  stood  motionless  on  the  highest 
point.  West,  south,  east,  north,  flamed 
the  last  glories  of  the  sunset  sky,  and  be- 
neath that  splendid  golden  dome  lay  the 
town  in  the  valley  —  long,  elusive,  hazy, 
a  city  in  a  dream  —  with  vanishing  hills 
beyond,  veiled  in  dense  blue  mist  like 
the  bloom  on  grapes  and  sleeping  among 
long  purple  vistas  that  faded  into  an 
ocean  of  twilight. 

"In  the  cloud  and  in  the  sea,"  she 
sighed.  But  why  such  beauty  ?  Was  it 
mockery,  or  a  message  —  prophecy  ?  A 
breath,  so  light,  so  light,  upon  her  eye- 
lids, —  a  caress  fainter,  finer  than  air 
178 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

upon  her  cheek,  and  when  she  did  not 
storm  and  rebel  but  stood  quite  still  and 
patient  in  the  dusk,  almost  —  almost  the 
vanished  touch  upon  her  hand. 

"  Ah,  God  —  ah  God  !  "  she  murmured 
helplessly,  gazing  into  the  darkening 
skies,  while,  unconsciously  uttering  the 
burden  of  that  ancient  chorus,  chanting 
down  the  ages,  her  spirit  cried  :  — 

" '  Zeus  !  Whoever  thou  art,  if  this  be 
the  name  acceptable  to  thee,  under  this 
name  I  implore  thee.'  " 

But  from  that  overshadowing  immens- 
ity no  peace  descended,  no  response,  no 
sign. 

"  If  it  were  not  so  pitiless.  If  but  a 
hint,  a  message,  a  sign  would  come,  to 
give  one  strength  to  go  on !  On  this 
whole  great  earth  is  no  soul  so  forsaken, 
so  unutterably  lonely." 

Into  her  troubled  thoughts  floated  an 
ancient  Brahmin  prayer  uttered  by  sor- 
rowing human  hearts  thousands  of  years 
before  the  Nazarene  taught  His  disciples 
"  Thy  will  be  done :  "  - 

"Thou  seest.     Thou   knowest  to  the 
end.     As  thou  wilt." 
179 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

"I  cannot  say  'As  Thou  wilt,'"  she 
groaned.  "  I  will  not.  What  in  all  eter- 
nity can  atone ! " 

Once  more  she  endeavored  to  formu- 
late her  soul-need.  "  O  Thou  —  Thou," 
she  stammered  piteously,  "Thou  know- 
est  I  never  want  to  be  a  coward." 

Slowly  she  descended  the  dusky  vine- 
yards where  at  long  intervals  a  weak, 
desultory  light  now  burned.  On  the 
bench  halfway  down  sat  the  same  lonely 
figure.  Without  a  glance  or  conscious 
thought  of  him  she  went  on,  when  her 
feet,  apparently  wiser  than  her  head, 
stopped  short  of  their  own  accord,  turned 
and  retraced  their  steps  until  she  found 
herself,  she  knew  not  how  or  why,  stand- 
ing by  the  bench.  Its  indistinct  occu- 
pant was,  she  vaguely  perceived,  a  man, 
and  she  felt  rather  than  saw  that  his 
clothing  was  flapping  emptily  with  a 
bizarre  effect, — not  as  beseemed  the 
tailor's  art  and  good  substantial  feet. 

Uncertain  how  to  address  him,  she 
stood  silent  in  the  dusk,  and  the  pause 
grew  strangely  long. 

"Good-evening,"  began  at  length  an 
180 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

unmistakably  young  voice.  "  Good-even- 
ing," she  returned  relieved,  instinctively 
adding  —  struck  by  the  indefinable  qual- 
ity of  his  tone  —  "  You  are  not  well  ? " 

"  No,"  was  the  gentle  answer. 

"Are  you  in  pain  ? " 

"Yes,"  said  the  young  voice  in  the 
dark,  with  its  subtle  suggestiveness, 
whether  of  resignation,  meekness,  or  apa- 
thy she  could  not  tell,  yet  recognized  it 
was  the  voice  of  one  who  suffered  and 
had  foregone  complaint. 

He  was  evidently  no  beggar.  He  had 
no  tale  to  tell,  no  ready  whine  and  vol- 
uble appeal.  He  had  not  spoken  as 
she  passed  him  twice,  and  if  she  should 
leave  him  now,  he  would  not  call  her 
back. 

He  would  sit  there  still  and  uncomplain- 
ing, with  mysterious  shadowy  features 
under  his  slouched  hat,  and  with  that 
miserable  empty  flapping  down  below, 
and  the  night  would  close  round  him,  for- 
lorn, ill,  and  young. 

"You  say  you  are  in  pain,"  she  re- 
sumed, "and  cold,  surely?" 

"Yes." 

181 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

"  And  hungry,  perhaps  ? " 

He  did  not  reply. 

"  Are  you  not  hungry  ?  "  she  persisted 
gently. 

Silence. 

"When  to-day  have  you  eaten  any- 
thing ? " 

"Not  to-day,"  said  the  patient  voice, 
cutting  her  to  the  heart  like  the  keenest 
reproach. 

"This  will  never  do,"  she  exclaimed, 
assuming  briskness.  "  Sitting  here  shiv- 
ering and  hungry !  Won't  you  come 
down  to  our  house  ?  It  is  the  third  on 
the  right,  there  where  you  see  the  lights. 
It  is  just  dinner-time.  Some  good  hot 
soup  will  do  you  good." 

No  reply. 

"It  will  do  me  good,  I  know.  I'm 
rather  chilly  myself." 

Still  no  response. 

She  drew  a  step  nearer  to  the  inscruta- 
ble shape.  She  was  trembling  and  a  lit- 
tle sob  caught  her  breath. 

"Please  come.  It  will  hurt  me  very 
much  if  you  do  not." 

"  I  '11  come,  then,"  returned  the  boy. 
182 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

She  descended  a  few  steps  and  waited. 

He  had  not  stirred. 

"  You  are  coming  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  But  now  —  with  me  ? " 

"I  '11  follow  you,"  he  said  tranquilly,  as 
before. 

Wondering,  she  went  on,  and  at  the 
foot  of  the  stone  stairway  looked  back 
and  listened.  The  vineyards  were  one 
steep  silent  mass  of  gloom.  No  footstep 
followed  hers. 

Doubtful,  yet  inclined  to  believe  he 
would  appear,  she  gave  certain  orders  for 
his  reception  and  awaited  her  singular 
guest. 

Presently  she  heard  something  hob- 
bling up  the  few  stairs  of  the  servants' 
entrance,  and  an  exhausted  boy  appar- 
ently on  the  verge  of  fainting,  staggered 
across  the  threshold,  and  fell  into  a 
chair. 

"  Lean  back,"  she  said.  "  Swallow  this. 
You  '11  be  better  soon,"  giving  him  tea- 
spoonfuls  of  hot  bouillon  and  offering 
wine  which  he  feebly  waved  away.  Grad- 
ually his  face  assumed  a  less  ghastly  hue 
183 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

and  he  opened  his  eyes.  Seeing  the 
lady,  he  tried  to  rise. 

"  Sit  still,"  she  said 

When  he  turned  fully  toward  her  un- 
der the  bright  light,  she  motioned  the 
others  away  and  stood  speechless  before 
the  youth  as  when  he  was  but  a  vague 
shape  in  the  twilight.  She  knew  not 
what  to  say  or  how  to  reach  him,  for  the 
sad  severity  of  his  young  face  appalled 
her.  Pure  in  outline,  with  the  limpid 
eyes  of  a  child,  and  about  the  resolute 
lips  a  stern  sweetness  as  of  a  seraph 
guarding  heaven's  gates, — it  was  an  ex- 
traordinary face  above  a  slight  long  body, 
squalid  clothes  and  a  stump  instead  of  a 
right  foot. 

He  finished  drinking  the  cup  of  soup. 

"  Thank  you.  I  think  I  'd  better  go 
along  now."  Again  he  rose. 

"  Ah,  not  just  yet.  You  've  eaten  no- 
thing." 

"It  is  quite  enough  for  me." 

"I  want  to  talk  with  you  a  little  — 
that  is,  if  you  don't  mind,"  —  she  added 
pleading,  —  smiling. 

The  austere  young  face  did  not  return 
184 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

her  smile.  Tacitly  conceding  the  point, 
he  leaned  back  and  looked  at  her  with 
dignity. 

"  I  hope  you  do  not  often  get  as  faint 
as  you  were  just  now,"  she  said  in  a  hesi- 
tating way,  for  she  found  him  most  diffi- 
cult to  aborder,  yet  some  sort  of  catechism 
seemed  imperative. 

"Not  very  often ;  sometimes." 

"You  had  been  sitting  there  long 
alone.  It  was  cold  and  late.  Will  no- 
body be  anxious  about  you  ? "  she  ven- 
tured to  ask. 

He  shook  his  head,  with  no  change 
of  expression,  but  always  the  inexorable 
sweetness  which  discountenanced  her. 

"Nobody." 

"  You  have  no  father  or  mother  ? " 

"No." 

"  No  home  ? " 

"  My  mother  died  when  I  was  twelve 
years  old.  I  never  saw  my  father." 

"Then  you  are  quite  alone  in  the 
world,"  she  said  softly. 

"I  have  one  brother,  a  soldier  in 
Ulm,"  he  announced  with  evident  frater- 
nal pride.  "  He  does  all  he  can  for  me. 
185 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

He  pays  for  my  room.  But  I  am  alone. 
Oh,  yes,"  he  repeated  gazing  straight 
before  him,  and  speaking  with  extreme 
composure,  "I  am  alone  in  the  world." 

She  wished  he  would  smile  just  once. 
She  wondered  if  he  ever  smiled.  With 
compassionate  eyes  she  observed  the  well- 
shaped  blond  head  of  which  any  mother 
might  be  proud  ;  the  bold  profile  —  it 
would  have  been  called  patrician  in  an- 
other sort  of  lad  ;  —  the  peculiarly  deli- 
cate beauty  of  contour  of  the  beardless 
cheek  and  throat,  like  those  of  an  ill 
child ;  the  transparent  skin  revealing 
smallest  veins  ;  the  long  silky  lashes. 

"You  are  so  young,"  she  sighed. 

"  I  am  not  young,"  he  rejoined  with  in- 
tense gravity.  "  I  am  nearly  nineteen." 

"  You  have  not  yet  told  me  your  name." 

"  My  name  is  Gustav  Maur." 

"  May  I  call  you  Gustav  ?  " 

He  nodded  his  serious  assent. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said  after  a  while, 
"  why  were  you  up  among  the  vineyards. 
It  must  be  hard  for  you  to  climb  so 
high." 

"To  get  away  from  the  people.  I  can 
186 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

think  better  up  there.  Besides,  it  is 
beautiful." 

She  wondered  to  hear  her  own  motives 
from  his  lips. 

Suddenly  he  for  the  first  time  volun- 
teered a  remark :  — 

"  I  have  seen  you  on  the  hill  often.  I 
saw  you  months  ago." 

"  I  never  saw  you,"  she  rejoined  with 
regret. 

"  No,  you  never  looked,"  the  boy  said 
simply. 

"  You  are  there  every  day  ? " 

"  Every  day  toward  evening  when  the 
weather  is  not  too  bad  and  I  am  not  pre- 
vented. In  summer,  all  day  long  some- 
times." 

"  Did  nobody  ever  speak  to  you  ?  Not 
one  of  all  the  people  that  go  up  and 
down  those  steps  continually  ?  " 

"  I  never  spoke  to  any  of  them  either," 
he  returned  coldly. 

Her  heart  was  oppressed  with  strange 
remorse.  How  was  it  humanly  possible 
to  let  all  this  sadness  and  loneliness 
crouch  uncared  for  by  the  wayside? 
How  was  it  possible  that  this  boy  could 
187 


THE   YOUTH   THAT  NEVER   SMILED 

starve  and  faint  and  die  in  his  haughty 
reticence,  while  people,  happy  people, 
kindly  enough  people  too,  no  doubt,  must 
have  brushed  his  flapping  empty  clothing 
as  they  climbed  the  narrow  path  to  chat 
and  laugh  and  admire  the  mellow  light 
flooding  the  vineyards  ?  Worse  still  was 
she  —  blind  to  his  misery,  because  seeing 
only  herself,  her  own  sorrow ;  because 
lost  in  endless  fruitless  introspection. 
For  what  then  were  they  and  she  wait- 
ing, before  they  should  feed  and  aid  him  ? 
For  what  is  called  an  introduction  ?  For 
somebody  to  mumble —  This  is  young 
starving  Gustav  Mattr?  While  in  draw- 
ing-rooms one  pretended  to  be  consumed 
with  delight  merely  to  meet  any  well- 
vouched  for,  well-fed  stranger  —  and  this 
was  civilization.  But  his  beautiful  sol- 
emn eyes  still  rebuked  her.  Not  even 
yet  did  she  know  what  ailed  him. 

"I  shall  look  now,"  she  said.  "I  shall 
always  look  for  you,  and  I  hope  you  will 
come  here  every  evening.  I  shall  be 
glad,  and  the  others  too.  There  will  al- 
ways be  something  warm  for  you,  a  warm 
corner  —  a  warm  welcome." 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

He  gave  her  a  searching  look  which 
she  found  wholly  incomprehensible. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  returned  gravely, 
whether  in  acceptance  or  mere  acknow- 
ledgment, she  could  not  determine,  but 
hastened  to  say : 

"  You  told  me  you  were  in  pain  to- 
night." 

"  I  'm  always  in  pain,"  was  the  mild 
amendment. 

"  It  is  not  your  lungs  ?  "  she  hazarded, 
for  though  exceedingly  pallid  and  emaci- 
ated he  had  no  cough,  and  his  voice  was 
sweet  and  clear. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  If  you  would  tell  me  about  it,"  she 
pleaded  very  gently,  "if  you  would  try  to 
forget  I  am  only  a  stranger,  I  might  be 
of  some  little  use  to  you.  Indeed,  I  am 
not  inexperienced." 

The  boy's  face  softened.  He  seemed 
about  to  speak,  wavered,  eyed  her  keenly 
as  if  she,  not  he,  vagrant  and  outcast, 
were  before  the  tribunal,  then  in  his  pas- 
sionless tones,  he  once  more  excluded 
her  from  his  confidence  :  — 

"  Nobody  can  be  of  any  use.  Besides 
189 


THE   YOUTH   THAT   NEVER   SMILED 

you  only  think  you  want  to  know  about 
me.     But  you  don't.     Nobody  does." 

"  Ah,  why  should  you  not  believe  me ! " 
she  exclaimed  distressed  and  amazed. 
"  I  care.  I  care  really,  whatever  it  is." 

The  pale  boy  watching  her  closely  an- 
swered, whether  in  simplicity  or  irony  she 
knew  not :  — 

"  It  is  not  a  pretty  disease,  madam." 

"  Ah,"  she  said  simply,  at  ease  at  last 
before  her  forbidding  young  guest  — 
"then,  Gustav,  tell  it  me,"  and  something 
in  her  face  constrained  him. 

"  Well,"  —  he  began  deliberately,  after 
a  while,  "it  is  in  my  blood  and  in  my 
bones.  It  is  eating  me  slowly  —  too 
slowly.  I  have  dragged  it  about,  off  and 
on,  since  I  was  born.  Still  I  Ve  been 
to  school.  I  've  learned  about  as  much 
as  other  fellows.  I  Ve  read  whatever  I 
could  get  hold  of,  and  I  Ve  learned  my 
trade.  I  'm  a  goldsmith,"  he  said  with 
boyish  pride.  "  Only  if  you  faint  and 
fall  on  the  floor  when  you  are  at  work,  it 
is  disturbing  to  your  employer.  Some- 
times I  'm  better,  sometimes  worse. 
When  I  can  earn  my  wages  like  an  honest 
190 


THE    YOUTH    THAT   NEVER   SMILED 

man  I  ask  nothing  of  nobody.  But  for 
the  last  six  weeks  it's  pretty  bad.  I 
cannot  sleep  without  my  drops,  the  pain 
never  ceases.  I  cannot  eat  for  sickness 
and  if  I  do  not  eat  I  faint.  I'm  every 
other  day  at  the  hospital  for  the  knife 
business.  See,"  pointing  to  his  stump 
—  "they  did  that  at  Tubingen  when  I 
was  fourteen,"  — a  sudden  burst  of  re- 
sentment in  his  face  and  voice  —  "  at 
Tubingen,"  he  repeated  with  grim  em- 
phasis. After  some  moments  he  re- 
sumed in  his  unimpassioned,  almost  im- 
personal way,  "the  other  leg  is  pretty 
far  gone.  There's  a  girdle  round  my 
waist.  And  see,"  —  slightly  pulling  up 
one  sleeve. 

She  was  breathing  rapidly. 
"  I  told  you  it  was  not  pretty." 
"  Pretty  !  "  she  gasped,  made  a  sorry 
attempt  to  smile,  shook  her  head  help- 
lessly, murmured  "Wait,"  and  fled  into 
her  dark  dressing-room  where  she  who 
wept    not    for    herself    shuddered    and 
sobbed  in    an  overwhelming   passion  of 
grief  for  this  poor  lost  life,  lost  before 
he  had  it  —  the  dear  lost   childhood  — 
191 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

the  joy  of  companionship,  the  conscious 
freshness  of  the  strong  sound  body  — 
all  lost  from  the  beginning,  while  the 
boy  with  his  beautiful  head,  proud  pure 
spirit  and  loathsome  disease  wandered 
on  earth  like  a  pariah.  It  was  a  sudden 
tempest  of  emotion  and  left  her  weak  and 
spent,  leaning  against  some  low  book- 
shelves, the  first  object  that  had  met  her 
flight. 

She  lighted  her  rooms,  hesitated,  un- 
locked a  wardrobe.  On  shelves  and  in 
drawers  lay  man's  underclothing  of  fin- 
est linen,  wool  and  silk,  fragrant  with 
rose  leaves  and  lavender.  She  looked 
long,  passed  her  hands  lingeringly  over 
the  smooth  layers,  buried  her  face  in  them 
and  was  still.  "It  is  better  so ! "  she 
sighed,  quickly  made  a  great  parcel  and 
rejoined  Gustav,  who  was  standing  on 
his  stump  uncertain  whether  to  hobble 
off. 

"These  things  are  soft,"  she  said  in  a 
matter  of  fact  way.  "They  may  make 
you  more  comfortable.  Now,  Gustav, 
drink  this  milk  at  least  if  you  cannot  eat. 
I  really  cannot  let  you  leave  my  house  so 
192 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

poorly  cared  for.     And  you'll  come  to- 
morrow ?  " 

"Yes,  I'll  come,"  he  answered  quite 
as  he  had  spoken  from  his  bench,  but 
watching  her  intently. 

"  And  where  are  you  going  now  ? " 
she  persisted,  as  if  she  had  the  right  to 
know. 

"  To  my  room  — to  bed. " 

"That  is  good.  Do  you  happen  to 
have  any  money  ?  " 

He  hesitated. 

"A  little  —  enough,"  he  replied  with 
reserve. 

"  That  is  good  too.  Please  put  this  in 
your  pocket  to  eat  with  your  milk  to- 
morrow morning.  And  here  is  a  book 
I  should  like  to  lend  you.  You  said  you 
liked  to  read.  Books  help  —  a  little  — 
sometimes." 

He  seized  the  volume  abruptly,  turned 
over  the  leaves,  looked  alternately  at  it, 
at  her,  a  gleam  of  eagerness  in  his  face, 
impulsively  extended  his  hand  as  if  to 
thank  her  and  as  suddenly  withdrew  it. 
She  comprehended  the  pitiful  panto- 
mime. 

193 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

She  happened  to  be  a  person  afflicted 
more  or  less  with  that  vile  complaint 
fastidiousness.  She  was  ready  to  make 
sacrifices  for  her  fellow-creatures  pro- 
vided she  need  not  touch  them.  Deep- 
rooted  in  her  nature  was  the  instinct 
which  in  one  way  or  another  proclaims 
"The  hand  of  Douglas  is  his  own,"  and 
in  spite  of  all  her  pyschic  sympathy  for 
the  ideal  qualities  of  this  poor  lad,  she 
was  now  conscious  of  distinct  physical 
repugnance,  —  of  which  baseness,  how- 
ever, she  was  deadly  ashamed. 

Smiling,  she  held  out  her  hand. 

He  made  no  movement  to  take  it,  but 
stood  quietly  looking  down  on  it  and 
her. 

"Do  you  think  you  quite  understand 
about  me  ? "  he  asked  with  a  sort  of  manly 
solicitude  for  her.  "  I  don't  know  my- 
self whether  I  'm  contagious,  but  people 
rather  avoid  me.  It  is  only  natural." 

"Nonsense  !  "  she  said,  her  hand  out- 
stretched, and  his,  slender,  soft,  unused, 
with  the  confiding  clasp  of  a  child  closed 
over  it  suddenly  and  long. 
194 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 


Thus  the  strange  boy  found  in  the 
vineyards  entered  her  life.  Seeking, 
stumbling,  groping  still,  fighting  the  old 
battles  never  lost  and  never  won,  she 
could  yet  forget  them  and  herself  in  the 
profound  pity  that  possessed  her  more 
and  more,  contemplating  that  slight  still 
uncomplaining  lonely  shape  waiting  for 
her  in  the  gloaming.  For  that  he  waited 
and  watched  for  her,  that  he  clung  to 
her  in  his  undemonstrative  fashion  was 
evident. 

When  as  often  happened,  he  was  al- 
ready on  his  bench  as  she  went  up,  she 
could  note  by  daylight  —  never  without 
a  pang  —  the  pretty  line  of  the  back  of 
his  head,  the  blond  hair  that  persisted  in 
its  curliness  although  cropped  short,  the 
touching  mingling  of  childlike  and  ado- 
lescent beauty  in  his  features,  the  grave 
repose  of  his  bearing. 

As  she  came  down,  in  the  beginning 
of  their  acquaintance,  she  would  stand 
and  talk  with  him  awhile,  but  finally 
'95 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

she  seated  herself  by  him  as  a  matter  of 
course.  She  never  could  prevail  upon 
him  to  accompany  her  home.  He  fol- 
lowed in  his  own  good  time,  partook  of 
his  light  repast,  sat  awhile  in  the  bright- 
ness and  warmth,  grew  familiar  with  no 
one,  never  without  special  entreaty  pro- 
longed his  brief  stay,  got  up  with  his 
quiet  "Thank  you  —  good-night,"  and 
hobbled  away,  —  his  pride  and  reserve 
intact. 

It  was  a  long  sunny  autumn,  followed 
by  a  mild  brief  winter  and  an  early 
spring.  In  six  months  of  almost  daily 
intercourse  he  never  once  volunteered 
any  information  about  himself.  Only 
very  gradually  by  dint  of  questioning  did 
she  learn  the  general  outlines  of  his  mode 
of  existence.  He  could,  it  appeared,  ob- 
tain refuge,  care,  and  the  opportunity  to 
work  when  able,  in  more  than  one  bene- 
volent institution  ;  free  lodging  and  food 
in  various  Homes  provided  for  such  as 
he.  But  his  freedom  —  even  his  —  he 
guarded  jealously,  and  had  not  the  re- 
motest intention  of  submitting  his  one 
precious  possession  to  the  charitable  dis- 
196 


THE   YOUTH   THAT   NEVER   SMILED 

cipline  of  an  asylum.  The  dignity  of 
the  suffering  boy  who  fought  no  battles, 
never  stormed  at  life  or  arraigned  fate, 
seemed  little  less  than  Christlike.  His 
touching  youthfulness  gave  her  a  great 
heartache  and  she  longed  to  devise  some 
way  of  letting  a  gleam  of  sunshine  into 
his  joyless  existence,  and  of  inducing 
that  fine  unsmiling  mouth  to  relax  in 
curves  of  gladness. 

"  Are  you  fond  of  music  ? "  she  asked 
him  one  evening. 

He  opened  his  eyes  wide. 

"  Because  if  you  'd  like  to  go  to  the 
opera  to-night,"  —  they  '11  make  him 
climb  to  the  fourth  gallery,  she  reflected ; 
still  he  mounts  the  vineyard  steps  ;  he 
looks  terribly  ill  and  his  hand  is  ban- 
daged to-day ;  but  if  he  should  die  listen- 
ing to  Fidelio  it  might  be  the  best  thing 
that  ever  happened  to  him,  —  "  here  is  a 
ticket.  There  are  a  good  many  stairs, 
Gustav." 

"I  don't  mind,"  he  stammered.  "I 
can  get  up  all  right.  I  never  went  any- 
where in  all  my  life."  Snatching  the 
ticket  he  dashed  out  of  the  room  with 
197 


THE   YOUTH   THAT   NEVER  SMILED 

amazing  rapidity,  and  went  off  at  a  reck- 
less pace  on  his  foot  and  stump  with  no 
crutch  or  cane,  as  if  his  fiery  spirit  dis- 
dained its  mortal  impedimenta  altogether. 
She  watched  the  pathetic  breakneck 
scramble  down  the  stairs  and  thought  : 

"  Only  a  boy  and  does  not  know  how 
to  smile ! " 

"  It  was  beautiful,"  he  began  at  once, 
a  strong  ring  of  excitement  in  his  tone, 
as  she  joined  him  the  following  evening. 
"  I  did  n't  know  there  was  anything  like 
that.  I  did  n't  hear  quite  all." 

"  You  were  too  tired  to  stay  ? " 

"  Oh,  no.  But,  you  see,  I  fainted  and 
fell  on  the  floor.  They  had  to  carry  me 
out,  but  they  did  n't  mind  much.  The 
doorkeeper  said  he  knew  I  could  n't  help 
it.  I  got  more  than  half.  Oh,  it  was 
great ! " 

Dismayed,  she  sat  down  beside  him 
and  watched  him  sadly. 

"You  can  hear  everything  in  that 
music,"  the  boy  went  on  excitedly; 
"  winds  and  water  and  voices.  It  is  the 
fiddles  that  have  the  voices.  I  like  them 
even  better  than  the  singing." 
198 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

"  Gustav,  why  did  you  faint  ?  Was 
the  music  too  exciting  ?  " 

"  I  suppose,"  he  admitted  reluctantly, 
"  it  was  because  they  chopped  off  two 
of  my  fingers  at  the  hospital  yester- 
day morning.  My  left  hand ; "  he  added 
quickly.  "  It  won't  prevent  me  working 
at  my  trade  as  soon  as  I  'm  well  enough. 
Do  you  know  how  the  sea  sounds  ?  Is 
that  noise  in  the  pines  up  there  like  it  ? 
I  heard  a  fellow  say  so." 

"  It  sounds  singularly  like  it,"  she  re- 
plied as  soon  as  she  could  command  her 
voice.  "You  can  even  hear  the  little 
rush  of  pebbles  when  the  great  wave 
recedes.  There  —  at  the  end  —  after  the 
swell  —  the  long,  low,  grating  sound,— 
do  you  hear  ?  " 

He  listened.    After  a  while  he  said  :  — 

"Sometimes  I  dream  of  the  sea.  I 
climb  masts  and  man  the  yards ;  that 's 
what  they  call  it,  is  n't  it  ?  There  I  am 
under  the  sky  like  a  bird,  and  the  ship 
goes  sailing  on." 

She  sat  very  still  with  tightly  clasped 
hands  and  heard  the  wind  moaning  in 
the  pines,  and  the  patient  voice  of  the 
199 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

mangled  boy.  He  said  no  more,  but  with- 
drew as  usual  within  himself. 

She,  silent  also,  full  of  pity  unspeak- 
able, was  sad  with  exceeding  sadness 
because  of  her  helplessness  before  him, 
because  of  her  inability  to  penetrate  his 
isolation,  to  be  of  any  true  comfort,  to 
give  him  anything  worth  giving.  For 
what  was  soup,  she  demanded  scornfully, 
and  what  were  clothes  and  a  few  creature 
comforts  and  smooth  words  from  time  to 
time  ?  —  and  even  the  music  which  had 
briefly  unsealed  his  thoughts  ?  Him,  his 
true  self,  she  had  never  once  reached. 
It  evaded  her  benevolence,  eluded  her 
kind  inquiries  that,  gently  as  they  were 
put,  doubtless  savored  to  him  of  patron- 
age. 

At  length  she  broke  the  long  si- 
lence :  — 

"  Gustav,  your  loneliness  is  immeasur- 
able, your  life  most  cruel ;  it  breaks  my 
heart  to  think  of  it ;  but  if  I  could  show 
you,  if  I  could  find  words  and  courage, 
there  are  other  sorrows,  different  from 
yours,  —  others  who  suffer,  and  appall- 
ing, ghastly  griefs." 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

"  I  know,"  replied  the  boy  compassion- 
ately, and  turned  toward  her. 

Simply,  quietly,  briefly,  as  if  it  were  a 
remote  tale,  the  woman  sketched  the  out- 
lines of  her  life,  —  its  conflicts,  loves,  and 
losses,  its  agony,  —  its  Calvary.  What- 
ever was  most  heart-breaking,  most  holy, 
most  beloved,  —  what  she  had  guarded 
from  the  friendliest,  —  she  now  revealed. 

A  deep-drawn  breath,  a  sigh,  a  half 
movement,  a  turning  toward  her  from 
time  to  time  was  his  only  comment.  But 
she  knew  without  words  that  he  compre- 
hended, —  as  if  nothing  sorrowful  in  hu- 
manity were  intrinsically  strange  to  him, 
however  remote  from  his  stunted  experi- 
ence. Dusk  and  silence  and  mists  closed 
round  and  made  an  island  of  their  bench 
halfway  up  the  height,  and  shut  them  off 
from  the  long  valley  below,  and  the  busy 
town  glimmering  through  vapors.  The 
two  were  alone  in  the  world  like  lovers. 

"  But  you  had  it,"  said  the  slow,  sweet 
voice.  It  was  as  if  the  night,  or  nature 
itself,  or  an  angel  from  above,  had  uttered 
this  eternal  verity.  Humbled,  she  bowed 
her  head. 

201 


THE   YOUTH   THAT   NEVER   SMILED 

"  Of  course,  what  I  want  most  is  to 
die,"  and  she  knew  subtly,  instantly,  even 
as  he  began,  that  his  reserve  was  melted, 
that  in  giving  him  of  herself  she  had  at 
last  given  something  worth  the  giving. 
"  In  that,  nobody  can  help  me  unless  I 
help  myself.  It  would  be  easy  enough, 
but  somehow  I  don't  want  to  hurry  the 
Lord.  It  cannot  be  very  long  to  wait, 
now  that  my  heart  is  so  weak.  But  there 
is  one  thing  I  'm  afraid  of,  one  thing 
always  hanging  over  me,"  — his  voice 
was  hard  —  "  and  I  hate  it  worse  than 
the  devil !  That 's  Tubingen." 

"Tubingen  ? " 

"I  was  a  little  chap,  you  see,  only 
fourteen.  I  had  no  mother  and  no 
money.  So  the  town  sent  me  to  Tubin- 
gen and  they  cut  off  my  foot.  If  I  had 
had  a  little  money,  I  need  never  have 
lost  it.  I  know  fellows  like  me  who  have 
kept  both  feet.  Two  years  ago  they 
sent  me  again.  I  was  there  six  months, 
and  all  those  young  doctors  learned  on 
me."  He  was  hoarse  with  emotion. 
"  They  learned  on  me  !  " 

202 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

"  Poor  Gustav  !  And  that  makes  you 
bitter  ?  " 

"That  makes  me  bitter,"  he  repeated 
sternly. 

"  Yet  they  are  wise  there,"  she  ven- 
tured to  urge.  "  They  could  have  made 
no  mistake." 

"I  don't  know  whether  they  did  or 
not.  I  only  know  I  will  never  go  there 
again  and  let  those  young  doctors  learn 
on  me." 

He  was  shivering. 

"You  are  cold,  Gustav." 

"  No,  I  am  not  cold.  But  whenever  I 
think  of  those  young  doctors  learning  on 
me,  I  can't  bear  it.  Suppose  some  day 
I  should  be  worse  and  could  n't  get  up 
in  the  morning.  I  've  got  a  little  room 
under  the  eaves.  It  belongs  to  the 
beer-shop  on  the  ground-floor.  Nobody 
troubles  me,  and  I  trouble  nobody.  But 
nobody  wants  an  ill  man  as  lodger,  — 
least  of  all,  my  kind.  They  would  notify 
the  police  quick  enough  and  pack  me  off 
to  Tubingen.  My  surgeon  at  the  hospital 
here  says  every  time  he  sees  me,  '  You  'd 
203 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

better  go  back  to  Tubingen.'  I  'm  an 
interesting  case,  you  know.  That 's  why 
they  kept  me  so  long  for  that  crowd  of 
young  doctors  to  learn  on.  And  some- 
times I  get  a  great  fright  that  I  shall  be 
sent  back  there  in  spite  of  myself.  I 
don't  want  to  die  there.  I  want  to  die 
—  respectable." 

"You  shall  never  go  back,  my  poor 
Gustav.  Oh,  why  did  you  not  tell  me 
this  before  ? " 

"  I  never  thought  of  telling  you  —  un- 
til to-night." 

"And  is  there  nothing  else  that  per- 
haps you  might  be  able  to  tell  me  —  to- 
night ?"  she  asked  humbly.  "  Have  you 
no  wish,  Gustav  ?  All  boys  have  wishes." 

With  an  eagerness  that  burst  all  bar- 
riers he,  the  silent  one,  broke  out :  — 

"  There 's  a  peasant  in  the  Remsthal. 
He  could  help  me.  It  is  a  mystery.  He 
prays  to  God  when  he  gathers  his  herbs. 
Nobody  knows  what  herbs.  He  prays 
over  you,  and  tells  you  to  believe  you  will 
be  cured  and  you  are  cured.  You  drink 
herb  tea  and  take  herb  baths,  two  a  day. 
He  prays  all  the  time.  He  asks  nothing 
204 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

for  the  treatment,  you  know.  He  gives 
his  time  and  care,  but  you  have  to  pay 
your  board,  because  he  is  poor  himself. 
His  house  is  always  full,  and  he  has  cured 
hundreds  the  doctors  have  given  up  and 
sent  to  Tubingen  and  such  places.  He 
is  kind  as  a  father  to  you.  A  fellow  who 
was  there  told  me  so.  He  was  almost  as 
bad  as  I,  and  now  he  is  sound  and  clean. 
If  you  will  let  me  go  to  the  peasant,  I  will 
pay  you  back  every  penny.  For  he  will 
cure  me,  you  see,  and  I  am  a  good  work- 
man. I  can  earn  three  marks  a  day  as 
soon  as  I  can  keep  at  it,  and  stop  faint- 
ing and  falling  on  the  floor  and  disturb- 
ing the  workshop.  And  if  you  will  trust 
me,  madam — ah,  if  you  will  only  trust 
me!  " 

She  was  grateful  to  the  darkness  that 
concealed  her  consternation  and  startled 
prejudice.  What  was  this  outbreak  of 
ignorance  and  crass  superstition  ? 

"  He  prays  over  you,"  Gustav  repeated 
in  a  sort  of  ecstasy.  "  It  is  a  mystery. 
It  is  quiet  out  there.  You  go  out  in  the 
woods.  You  drink  all  the  milk  you  want. 
And  he  is  as  kind  as  a  father." 
205 


THE   YOUTH   THAT   NEVER   SMILED 

Tubingen  was  centuries  old  and  cen- 
turies wise,  she  reflected ;  but  for  this 
doomed  and  dying  boy  why  not  the  won- 
der-peasant with  his  prayers  and  herbs, 
rather  than  the  prayerless  young  students 
with  their  knives  ?  What  mattered  it 
whether  Gustav  were  in  point  of  science 
orthodox  ? 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  have  any  faith 
in  it,"  said  the  boy  shrewdly.  "  How 
could  you?  But  when  I  am  cured  you 
will  believe.  When  I  am  well  enough  to 
wear  a  wooden  leg  I  can  walk  down  with 
you,"  he  added,  a  certain  manliness  in  his 
tone.  "  I  never  will  on  my  stump.  It 's 
not  decent  for  a  lady  like  you." 

"Oh,  Gustav,  Gustav,  I  believe  now. 
That  is,  I  believe  it  is  good  for  you  to 
go  out  there  if  you  want  to,  and  you 
certainly  shall  go  at  once  —  to-morrow  — 
whenever  you  like."  For  he  should  have 
his  one  wish,  she  resolved ;  he  should  be 
glad  with  the  gladness  of  hope  once  be- 
fore he  died. 

In  his  delight  he  chattered  freely  like 
any  boy,  revealed  how  for  years  he  had 
dreamed  of  the  peasant  as  an  unattain- 
206 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

able  salvation,  told  the  exact  distance 
and  fare,  described  the  route  and  every 
way-station.  She,  listening,  marveled  at 
nothing,  least  of  all  at  the  manifestation 
of  the  instinctive  desire  for  life  flaming 
up  sudden  and  strong  after  long  repres- 
sion. 

"  I  never  thought  I  'd  get  any  chance 
down  here,"  he  exulted.  "  Of  course  I 
knew  I  must  get  one  somewhere.  That 
is  why  I  never  could  decide  to  hurry  the 
Lord.  I  always  knew  He  and  I  had  got 
accounts  to  be  squared  somewhere.  I 
never  hurt  Him.  He 's  hurt  me  pretty 
bad.  Now  I  want  to  see  how  He  means 
to  make  up  to  me  for  it  all.  If  I  inter- 
fere and  cut  things  short,  it  does  n't  seem 
fair  to  Him." 

"  How  do  you  know  you  '11  have  an- 
other chance,  Gustav  ?  I  believe  you 
will,  but  why  do  you  say  you  know  ?  " 

"  Why,  because  I  've  never  had  any 
down  here.  I  've  seen  every  kind  of  sin 
and  sinner,  things  a  lady  like  you  knows 
nothing  about.  I  'm  not  a  great  sinner. 
It  is  no  feather  in  my  cap.  I  was  never 
strong  enough  to  be  worth  anything 
207 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

either  for  good  or  bad.  I  told  lies  when 
I  was  little.  I  don't  now.  Sometimes  I 
have  evil  thoughts.  Not  long  ago  I  threw 
a  stone  at  a  fellow  on  a  bicycle,  —  hit  him, 
too.  I  had  just  fainted  and  lost  my  place, 
and  my  pains  were  bad,  and  he  came 
spinning  along,  and  I  hated  him.  Only 
for  a  moment,  you  know,  but  it  was  aw- 
fully mean,  for  he  'd  never  done  me  any 
harm.  And  those  young  doctors  that 
learned  on  me,  —  I  hate  them  always. 
I  'd  hurt  them  if  I  could  —  with  knives. 
I  'd  pay  them  back  for  all  they  've  learned 
on  me,  and  for  the  way  they  look.  But 
hurt  them  as  much  and  as  long  as  the 
Lord  has  hurt  me,  and  never  give  them 
another  chance  ?  No,  I  would  n't,  I 
could  n't,  and,  among  all  the  bad  fellows 
I  've  seen,  I  don't  know  one  bad  enough 
for  that.  That  would  be  devilish." 

"You  see,"  he  resumed  tranquilly,  "if 
the  Lord  could  serve  me  so,  He  must 
have  His  reasons.  It 's  not  sense,  is  it, 
to  suppose  a  great  God  big  enough  to 
make  a  world  would  hurt  a  poor  chap  like 
me  for  nothing  ?  That  is  why  I  've  made 
up  my  mind  to  be  as  quiet  as  I  can  until 
208 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

I  see  what  next.  I  rather  think  it 's  all 
right  and  He  knows  what  He's  about. 
Being  alone,  I  think  about  such  things  a 
good  deal.  Somehow,  it  does  n't  seem 
fair  to  find  fault  with  what  you  are  too 
small  to  understand.  It 's  best  to  bear 
things,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"Did  you  ever  know  any  one  you 
thought  worse  off  than  you  ?  " 

"  Sometimes,  waiting  for  death  that 
would  not  come,  —  unwholesome,  so  that 
nobody  wanted  me  near,  always  so  lonely 
and  so  "  —  he  hesitated  —  "  unloved,  I 
have  thought  I  was  the  worst  off  on  earth, 
the  most  God-forsaken.  But  it  is  not 
true.  There  are  worse.  I  had  my 
mother  once.  Then  there 's  my  brother 
—  and  there's  you,"  he  added  shyly. 

She  questioned  no  more.  She  under- 
stood. For  the  first  time,  they  were 
peers.  He  at  last  had  deigned  to  grant 
her  right  of  way  in  his  proud  spirit's  ter- 
ritory. 

"  Let  us  go  down,  dear  Gustav.  It  is 
cool,  and  we  have  sat  here  too  long." 

"  I  '11  follow,"  he  replied,  immovable  in 
his  punctiliousness. 

209 


THE  YOUTH  THAT  NEVER  SMILED 

It  was  not  long  before  a  light  bore 
swiftly  down  upon  him  hobbling  across  a 
dim  street.  A  bell  rang  vehemently,  but 
the  imperative  warning  was  too  late.  A 
wheel  struck  him,  flung  him  violently 
upon  a  heap  of  paving  stones,  and  was 
itself  with  its  rider  overthrown.  The 
cyclist  helped  to  carry  him  into  the  near- 
est house.  A  woman  bent  over  him  ten- 
derly. He  lay  unconscious. 

"  Gustav,  my  poor  Gustav  ! " 

He  opened  his  eyes  upon  the  little 
group,  —  the  frightened  face  of  the 
strange  boy,  her,  and  the  others. 

His  lips  moved.  His  gaze  sought  hers. 
She  bent  nearer. 

"  Those  —  young  —  doctors  f  "  he 
gasped,  smiling,  as  his  spirit  passed,  a 
splendid  flashing  smile  of  boyish  tri- 
umph. The  afterglow  of  that  strange 
farewell  lingered  upon  the  young  fea- 
tures marvelously  chiselled  in  death,  and 
merged  into  a  godlike  smile  of  mystery 
and  peace. 

210 


THE   MAJESTY   OF  THE  LAW 
I 

)AYING  nothing  of  his  purpose, 
—  to  whom,  indeed,  should  he 
speak  now  that  Christel  was 
dead  ?  —  the  little  old  man  set  forth. 
This,  in  substance,  is  the  tale  he  told  the 
lawyer  whom  he  journeyed  to  town  to 
consult  :  — 

His  name  was  Jakob  Bleibtreu,  —  a 
peasant  of  Sonnenheim,  seventy  -  three 
years  old.  He  had  lived  a  laborious  and 
honest  life.  None  of  his  race  was  ever 
charged  with  crime  or  misdemeanor. 
For  more  than  two  hundred  years  they 
had  tilled  the  soil  of  Sonnenheim,  toiled 
in  their  cornfields  and  vineyards,  wronged 
no  man,  and  been  gathered,  ripe  in  years 
of  stainless  reputation,  to  their  fathers. 
Such  had  been  the  Sonnenheim  Bleib- 
treus,  not  indeed  among  the  richest,  but 
a  solid,  thrifty,  law-abiding  race. 


THE   MAJESTY   OF   THE   LAW 

He  had  owned  his  cottage,  his  father's 
and  grandfather's  before  him.  In  it,  on 
his  own  land,  he  had  lived  forty-nine 
years  with  his  wife  Christel.  During 
that  long  time  they  had  met  their  share 
of  good  and  ill  luck  with  cattle,  wine,  and 
crops,  had  lost  both  sons  —  good  lads, 
and  sturdy  as  you  'd  seldom  find  —  in 
the  war ;  one  daughter  had  married  and 
moved  away  and  one  had  died  ;  there  had 
been  storm  as  well  as  fair  weather  :  yet, 
all  in  all,  he  would  not  say  they  'd  not 
been  peaceful  and  prosperous  enough, 
and  he  could  complain  of  nothing,  for 
he  and  his  old  Christel  had  got  on  rarely 
together  from  the  first. 

It  was  two  years  and  one  month  now 
since  he  had  begun  to  build  his  new- 
fangled house  near  the  village.  What 
induced  him  to  do  it  he  knew  not.  He 
had  never  been  one  of  those  that  are 
troubled  with  ideas  ;  never  been  tempted 
to  start  up  and  do  things;  was  always 
content  to  plod  along  the  safe  way  of  his 
forefathers.  But  other  men  were  build- 
ing. They  talked  large  at  the  village  inn 
over  their  beer.  Times  were  changing, 


THE   MAJESTY   OF  THE   LAW 

they  said.  Some  even  prophesied  that 
before  many  years  the  shriek  of  the 
steam-engine  would  be  heard  in  those 
quiet  meadows.  It  was  like  a  fever,  — 
that  talk  at  the  Waldhorn.  Solid  men, 
they  said,  should  come  forward,  when 
land  was  going  up  like  pancakes,  and 
show  themselves  enterprising  and  public- 
spirited,  not  stick  in  their  shells  like 
snails.  Projects,  advice,  figures,  and 
probabilities  were  paraded  until  his  head 
swam. 

He  used  to  go  home  across  the  fields 
and  try  to  explain  what  he  had  heard  to 
Christel.  He  remembered  better  than 
yesterday  the  first  time  he  broached  the 
subject.  He  came  into  the  kitchen  and 
took  off  his  boots,  and  she  fetched  him 
his  carpet-slippers  and  skull-cap,  —  all 
still  and  friendly,  as  was  her  way.  After 
they  had  had  their  usual  supper  of  good 
boiled  potatoes  and  thick  sour  milk, 
which  they  always  ate  in  silence  —  for 
it  was  best  to  give  your  mind  to  your 
meals  —  and  after  she  had  handed  him 
his  long  pipe  and  tobacco  pouch  and  he 
had  puffed  awhile,  he  began  to  talk,  and 
213 


THE  MAJESTY   OF  THE   LAW 

not  before  ;  for  when  he  had  anything  to 
say  he  liked  to  sit  down  quietly  and  get 
ready  and  not  feel  hurried. 

So  he  sat  in  his  chair  and  smoked,  and 
spoke  between  his  whiffs,  while  Christel 
sat  in  hers  and  knitted  and  said  nothing. 
But  somehow,  in  the  still  cottage  away 
from  the  men's  encouragement,  things 
sounded  altogether  different.  At  any 
rate,  he  could  not  rouse  her  to  any  sense 
of  their  importance,  or  make  her  under- 
stand. She  listened  quite  unconcerned, 
and  clicked  on  busily,  asking  no  ques- 
tions and  making  no  comments.  But 
when  nine  o'clock  came,  and  she  got  up 
to  lay  aside  her  spectacles  and  knitting 
and  look  after  fire  and  lights,  she  said  in 
her  quiet  way  —  she  was  always  a  quiet 
woman,  his  wife  Christel  —  she  thought 
she  and  her  good  old  Jokel  would  be  apt 
to  sleep  well  and  long  on  it  before  they 
took  up  outlandish  notions.  And  some- 
how it  secretly  irritated  him  that  she  felt 
so  secure,  and  every  day  at  the  Waldhorn 
the  men's  talk  pulled  him  the  other  way. 

It  was  long  before  she  seemed  able  to 
grasp  the  fact  that  he  was  in  earnest,  and 
214 


THE   MAJESTY   OF  THE   LAW 

no  wonder,  for  never  before  had  they  two 
divided  opinions  upon  any  course  what- 
ever. When  she  at  length  perceived  his 
mind  was  made  up,  she  opposed  most 
bitterly.  Why  at  their  age,  so  near  the 
grave,  build  houses  ?  Why  have  notions  ? 
Why  sink  their  hard-earned  savings  in 
building  when  they  had  their  own  good 
Haus  und  Hof?  Why  vex  themselves 
with  noise  and  change  ?  Were  they  not 
well  enough  and  content  ?  Let  strangers 
come  to  the  village,  —  and  the  railway 
and  loads  of  money-bags,  if  such  things 
were  to  be ;  but  all  was  not  gold  that 
glittered,  and  the  Queen  of  Sheba  and 
her  gorgeousness  had  not  yet  arrived. 
Sonnenheim  was  pretty  much  as  she  re- 
membered it  going  on  sixty  or  seventy 
years,  except  for  an  unusual  lot  of  fool- 
ish men-folk's  talk  Surely  she  and  her 
Jokel  would  not  grow  feather-brained, 
but  go  on,  steady  and  sure,  hand  in  hand, 
and  keeping  to  old  fashions. 

The  more  she  pleaded,  the  more  stub- 
born he  became,  as  if  in  his  old  age  sud- 
denly possessed  of  a  devil.     He  might 
have   remembered   Christel   was   always 
215 


THE   MAJESTY   OF  THE   LAW 

right.  Never  a  woman  of  many  words, 
but  what  she  said  rang  true.  An  eye  for 
a  horse,  for  cattle,  —  well  sharper  than 
his  own,  or  any  man's  he  knew  ;  a  sound 
head  at  market  and  for  farm  work,  and 
judgment  in  all  things.  But  he  in  anger 
told  her  men's  schemes  were  too  deep 
for  womenfolk.  And  so  it  came  about 
they  had  their  first  hard  words  about 
that  house,  and  Christel  said  she'd  die 
before  she  'd  so  much  as  even  look  at  it. 

They  quarreled,  and  had  been  man 
and  wife  nine  and  forty  years  and  never 
before  discontented  with  each  other  one 
whole  day,  —  no,  not  really  for  an  hour. 
It  was  known  far  and  wide  that  they  two 
pulled  strong  and  smooth  together,  and, 
old  as  young,  sat  snugly  side  by  side. 
At  weddings,  in  the  whole  region  round 
about,  it  was  customary  to  wish  the 
young  pair  wedlock  as  long  and  peaceful 
as  old  Jokel's  and  his  Christel's.  That 
is  what  they  were  until  he  built  the  new 
house. 

Well,  he  built  it.  It  cost  more  than 
he  had  reckoned.  It  swallowed  all  his 
savings,  and  even  that  was  not  enough. 
216 


THE  MAJESTY   OF  THE   LAW 

Ill-luck  pursued  him  from  the  day  he 
laid  the  foundations.  Somehow  all  his 
money  transactions  went  wrong.  He 
had  to  mortgage  his  cottage  and  his 
farm.  Then  came  the  great  drought  and 
distress  on  every  side;  —  no  crops,  no 
fodder,  and  his  cattle  sold  for  a  song. 
Finally  his  health  gave  way  and  Christel 
sickened  and  died.  He  buried  her  on 
the  ninth  of  November  seventeen  months 
gone.  She  had  drooped  from  the  time 
he  began  building,  she  took  it  so  to 
heart.  That  is  what  the  new  house  cost 
him. 

There  it  stood,  empty  and  useless. 
No  one  would  buy  it.  He  hated  it.  The 
cottage  of  his  fathers,  where  he  and 
Christel  had  lived  half  a  century  in  good 
and  evil  days  and  where  their  children 
were  born,  he  was  obliged  to  sell.  The 
new-comers  left  him  his  old  sleeping- 
room  which  he  occupied.  A  lonely  old 
man,  he  came  and  went  silently,  trou- 
bling nobody.  The  new  faces  and  voices 
fretted  him  sorely.  Day  and  night  he 
missed  his  Christel  and  brooded  over  his 
misfortunes. 

217 


THE   MAJESTY   OF  THE   LAW 

The  new  house  was  his  curse.  Had 
he  not  built  it  he  would  not  have  lost  his 
health,  his  money,  his  home  and  farm, 
his  peace  of  mind,  and  his  good  old  wife. 
Over  the  very  thought  of  it  they  two  fell 
out  for  the  first  time  in  their  lives.  She 
kept  her  word ;  never  looked  at  it  build- 
ing ;  never  saw  it  done :  it  was  hardly 
finished  when  she  died.  Had  he  listened 
to  her,  all  would  still  be  well.  Thus  he 
brooded  continually,  and  a  dull,  impotent 
rage  possessed  him  more  and  more,  — 
a  sense  of  personal  enmity  toward  the 
house  which  neither  he  nor  anybody  else 
wanted,  and  which  had  robbed  him  of  his 
Christel  —  the  blessing  of  all  his  days. 

One  evening  the  previous  November 
he  was  returning  from  a  neighboring 
market  town  with  some  of  the  villagers. 
He  had  done  little  enough  business, 
merely  a  few  small  matters  which  he  had 
undertaken  for  the  young  couple  in  his 
cottage,  and  once  he  was  one  of  the  most 
important  and  respected  men  on  the 
market.  Such  reflections  galled  him.  It 
was  hard  in  one's  old  age  to  lose  the 
fruits  of  all  the  patient  labor  of  one's  life, 
218 


THE   MAJESTY   OF   THE   LAW 

as  well  as  the  consciousness  that  one  is  of 
weight  in  the  community. 

So  he  was  taciturn  and  came  along 
with  the  others  —  mostly  young  men  — 
merely  from  habit,  and  because  they  were 
all  from  Sonnenheim  ;  and  sat  with  them 
in  the  Drei  Mohren  and  the  Schwalbe 
and  the  Traube,  and  the  other  inns  where 
they  stopped  for  beer  or  cider  or  new 
wine,  yet  drank  nothing  himself  except 
one  glass  of  the  new,  —  young  Thomas 
Bolz,  who  was  a  bit  merry,  insisting  upon 
it,  —  and  hardly  heard  their  boasts  and 
laughter,  so  lost  was  he  in  his  own  dreari- 
ness. 

Finally,  however,  on  the  road  home- 
ward, their  loud  wit  turned  upon  him. 
Bolz,  chaffing  him  noisily  about  what 
people  now  called  Bleibtreu's  Folly, 
asked  him  if  he  was  going  to  hang  lace 
curtains  in  the  windows  and  have  a  door- 
bell like  city  folk ;  perhaps,  —  who  knew  ? 
—  a  piano,  or  even  a  smart  young  wife ; 
such  things  had  happened  before  now 
to  sly  old  men.  Bolz  joked  on,  not  un- 
kindly, but  after  the  jovial  fashion  of 
young  men  who  have  partaken  at  brief 
219 


THE   MAJESTY   OF   THE   LAW 

intervals  of  beer  and  cider  and  new  wine. 
Yet  as  they  parted  at  the  stile — for 
Bleibtreu's  way  lay  over  the  fields,  the 
others'  down  the  high-road  to  the  village 
—  young  Bolz  was  not  too  merry  to  no- 
tice how  wearily  the  old  man  walked,  and 
to  turn  and  accompany  him  a  bit  across 
the  fields,  holding  his  arm  ;  and  this  was 
not  much  after  ten  o'clock,  as  all  of  them 
could  and  did  testify. 

Toward  five  o'clock  on  the  following 
morning  Bleibtreu,  sleeping  soundly,  was 
waked  by  the  young  couple,  who  in- 
formed him  his  new  house  was  burned  to 
the  ground.  He  made  no  comment,  got 
up,  went  over  and  quietly  surveyed  the 
scene  of  the  conflagration,  returned  and 
ate  a  better  breakfast  than  usual. 

The  authorities,  as  a  mere  matter  of 
form,  examined  and  discharged  him 
promptly.  No  shade  of  suspicion  clung 
to  him  for  a  moment.  The  building  was 
uninsured.  What  motive,  then,  could  a 
man  have  to  destroy  his  own  property  ? 
Besides,  the  young  men  testified  Bolz  had 
assisted  him  some  distance  on  the  night 
of  the  fire,  and  it  seemed  scarcely  reason- 


THE   MAJESTY   OF   THE   LAW 

able  to  suppose  he  had  retraced  his  fee- 
ble steps  and  gone  the  long  way  twice,  — 
late  and  alone.  The  young  couple,  too, 
had  bade  him  good -night  when  he  re- 
turned. They  protested  it  would  have 
been  impossible  for  him  to  leave  or  en- 
ter the  house  without  their  knowledge. 
There  he  was,  sound  asleep,  at  five  o'clock. 
Does  a  man  commit  a  deed  of  that  sort 
and  sleep  like  an  innocent  child  ? 

He  went  about  silent  as  usual  for  a 
few  weeks,  after  which  his  various  bodily 
infirmities  culminated  in  a  long  illness, 
and  he  was  more  or  less  bedridden  all 
the  winter,  but  seemed  able  to  bear  his 
lot  placidly ;  in  fact,  the  young  couple 
thought  him  rather  less  melancholy  than 
before. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  sober  little  village, 
where  one  robust  sensation  might  afford 
entertainment  for  years,  the  motives  of 
the  mysterious  incendiary  were  exhaus- 
tively discussed.  The  peasants  con- 
fronted the  gruesome  possibility  that 
their  own  good  farmhouses  and  fat  barns 
might  blaze  up  at  the  touch  of  the  same 
miscreant  hand.  Unimaginative  pates 


THE   MAJESTY   OF   THE    LAW 

produced  and  proclaimed  monstrous  the- 
ories. A  certain  agitation  and  suspicion 
inflamed  late  oratory  over  beer-mugs  at 
the  Waldhorn.  Young  Bolz  was  the  last 
person  seen  in  the  street  by  the  watch- 
man on  the  fatal  night.  Some  good  folk 
knew  for  a  positive  fact  that  nobody  but 
he  set  Bleibtreu's  new  house  afire.  For 
what  motive  ?  Why,  for  devilry.  Was 
that  not  motive  enough  for  Thomas  Bolz  ? 
Perhaps  when  people  were  grilled  and 
roasted  in  their  beds,  they  would  begin 
to  perceive  what  a  dangerous  and  repre- 
hensible young  scamp  he  was.  There 
was  a  distinct  anti-Bolz  faction.  A  poor 
lad  who  once  in  a  pet  —  but  this  was 
years  ago — had  threatened  to  set  fire 
to  somebody's  mill  was  anathematized  by 
another  group. 

But  rare  and  mild  versions  of  such 
rumors  reached  the  ill  old  man  during 
the  winter.  People,  curiously  enough, 
were  too  intent  upon  the  mystery  of  his 
burned  house  to  concern  themselves 
much  about  him.  Late  in  March  he 
ventured  out  for  the  first  time,  listened 
to  stern  as  well  as  foolish  talk  at  the 

222 


THE    MAJESTY   OF  THE   LAW 

Waldhorn,  and  became  suddenly  cogni- 
zant of  the  strong  feeling  that  had  been 
accumulating  steadily  for  a  half  year, 
and  that  public  sentiment  was  like  a 
swollen  stream  seeking  an  outlet. 

So,  saying  nothing  to  anybody, — for 
to  whom  should  he  speak  now  that  Chris- 
tel  was  dead  ?  —  he  got  a  lift  to  the  mar- 
ket town,  and  came  down  by  rail  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  to  the  capital,  to  tell 
to  the  learned  gentleman  whom,  Bleibtreu 
said,  men  at  the  Waldhorn  and  the  Drei 
Mohren  had  called  the  Friend  of  the  Folk, 
all  the  evil  that  had  befallen  him ;  and  to 
confess  that  he  himself,  the  night  that 
the  young  fellows,  meaning  no  harm, 
jeered  him,  and  his  grief  and  rage  were 
greater  than  he  could  bear,  had  recrossed 
the  fields,  hid  himself  from  the  watch- 
man, waited  until  all  was  still,  stolen  into 
the  new  house,  brought  down  and  dis- 
tributed everywhere  straw  which  was 
stored  in  the  garret,  set  fire  to  the  ac- 
cursed place  at  several  points,  locked 
the  door,  and  crept  away  unseen  and  un- 
heard as  he  came.  From  afar  he  watched 
it  begin  to  blaze,  and  his  heart  then  and 
223 


THE   MAJESTY   OF   THE   LAW 

there  threw  off  a  great  load  of  wrong 
toward  his  good  old  Christel,  and  he  went 
to  bed  and  slept  soundly. 

He  had  not  one  moment  on  his  own  ac- 
count repented  the  deed.  It  was  his  own 
house  and  he  destroyed  it.  In  nearly  fifty 
years  the  building  of  it  was  the  first  wrong 
he  had  done  his  wife  Christel,  and  it  had 
broken  her  heart.  He  wished  he  had 
but  burned  it  before  she  died.  Still  it 
was  gone  now,  burned  to  the  ground,  and 
that  was  well. 

But  what  he  could  not  bear  was  that 
innocent  men  should  be  accused  in  his 
stead.  There  was  angry  talk,  and  good 
men  were  named  for  a  fault  not  their 
own,  and  harm  might  still  come  of  it. 
But,  even  if  not,  he  could  not  bear  it,  for 
his  conscience  gave  him  no  rest  day  or 
night ;  and  somehow  the  concealment  in 
itself  weighed  heavy  on  him.  Therefore 
he  had  journeyed  to  the  great  town  to 
give  himself  up,  for  speech  was  less 
stumbling  before  strangers  than  to  men 
who  have  stood  with  you  at  market  two- 
score  years  and  more,  and  seen  you  regu- 
lar in  your  seat  in  church,  and  drunk 
324 


THE   MAJESTY   OF  THE   LAW 

many  a  mug  with  you  at  the  Waldhorn, 
and  always  bade  you  a  neighborly  Griiss 
Gott,  and  respected  you  all  your  days. 

Infirm,  sad-eyed,  mild  and  slow,  the 
old  man  told  his  tale.  He  seemed  sur- 
prised to  learn,  if  he  denounced  himself, 
he  would  be  placed  in  custody.  Some- 
how he  had  not  thought  of  that,  he  said. 

After  some  reflection  he  replied  the 
Bleibtreus  had  been  a  law-abiding  race, 
and  he  was  an  old  man  now  ;  still,  as  his 
conscience  gave  him  no  choice  and  he 
had  come  to  town  to  speak  and  take  the 
consequences,  he  should  not  retract. 

Moved  with  exceeding  pity,  his  legal 
confessor  urged  him  to  consider  well  :  no 
man  was  compelled  to  incriminate  him- 
self ;  he  must  remember  the  village  au- 
thorities had  pronounced  him  innocent ; 
the  affair  was  six  months  old  ;  the  excite- 
ment must  soon  abate  and  be  forgotten  ; 
now  that  he  had  thoroughly  freed  his 
mind  he  would  no  doubt  feel  easier :  he  'd 
better  go  quietly  home,  and  if  later,  say 
in  five  or  six  months,  he  should  want  to 
reopen  the  subject,  the  legal  gentleman 
was  heartily  at  his  service. 
225 


THE   MAJESTY   OF  THE   LAW 

Bleibtreu  gently  shook  his  head. 

Informed  if  he  insisted  upon  formally 
confessing  then  and  there,  the  police 
must  be  notified  and  would  forthwith  de- 
tain him,  he  seemed  for  a  moment  a  shade 
more  dreary  and  desolate,  and  replied 
humbly,  as  he  had  not  understood  it 
would  be  necessary  to  lock  him  up,  he 
thought  it  would  be  best  for  him  to  go 
home  and  put  everything  in  order ;  par- 
ticularly because  it  being  already  April 
and  good  sowing  -  time,  he  should  like 
to  give  some  instructions  to  the  young 
couple  who  were  not  yet  acquainted  with 
the  ways  of  his  land. 

He  departed,  and  the  lawyer  sincerely 
hoped  he  should  never  see  the  poor  old 
fellow  again.  But  in  five  days  he  reap- 
peared, and  was  handed  over  to  the 
august  manipulations  of  the  law. 


II 

The  massive  stone  building,  rich  with 

carving,  cost  approximately  eight  million 

marks :   ten  million  francs,   two  million 

dollars,  four  hundred   thousand  pounds 

226 


THE   MAJESTY   OF   THE   LAW 

sterling,  —  a  stately  and  sonorous  sum, 
however  reckoned ;  in  this  instance  de- 
rived chiefly  from  the  milliards  extorted 
as  war  indemnity  from  a  great  conquered 
nation,  and  otherwise  from  the  taxes  un- 
der which  the  people  groaned. 

Rotund  burghers,  the  rectitude  of 
whose  incomes  led  them  not  into  tempta- 
tion —  that  is  to  say,  into  certain  forms 
of  temptation  —  smirkingly  pointed  out 
the  beauties  of  the  huge  and  imposing 
edifice  to  strangers,  but  the  poor  and 
those  of  no  repute  looked  askance  at  it. 
Such  as  they,  once  in,  rarely  emerged 
under  pleasurable  conditions. 

It  was  lighted  by  electricity,  wanned 
by  steam,  and  employed  a  retinue  of 
liveried  servants,  who  stood  about  assidu- 
ously with  somewhat  haughty  mien. 
Keen-faced  men  with  portfolios  under 
their  arms  hastened  in  every  direction 
along  its  spacious  corridors  and  up  and 
down  its  marble  stairways,  smiling  at  one 
another — like  the  augurs  —  as  they 
passed  toward  some  lofty  hall  which 
would  shortly  resound  with  their  elo- 
quence, or  withdrew  to  a  still  nook  to 
227 


THE   MAJESTY   OF  THE   LAW 

prepare  repartees  and  impassioned  bursts 
of  oratory. 

Guards  splendid  of  presence  and  gleam- 
ing as  to  uniform  decorated  all  chief 
portals.  Busts  of  eminent  lawgivers, 
classic  and  modern,  awed  even  the  ultra- 
flippant  into  a  passing  sense  of  nothing- 
ness, while  the  average  serious-minded 
mortal  was  incited  to  considerable  exal- 
tation. Instinctively  the  human  breast 
inflated,  the  spine  straightened,  the  foot 
trod  proudly,  under  these  august  influ- 
ences. It  was  impossible  to  so  much  as 
walk  through  the  building  without  paying 
this  involuntary  tribute  to  the  majesty 
of  the  Law,  and  to  one's  own  remote, 
abashed,  yet  as  member  of  the  universal 
human  brotherhood,  indisputable  connec- 
tion therewith. 

To  maintain  this  superb  Palace  of  Jus- 
tice, its  oligarchy  of  incorruptible  magis- 
trates, its  learned  and  zealous  prosecutors 
for  the  Crown,  its  troop  of  recorders, 
clerks,  and  scribes  of  various  sorts  and 
degrees,  its  gendarmerie  with  the  air  of 
vikings,  its  troop  of  well-paid  menials 
conscious  of  rectitude,  its  libraries,  read- 
228 


THE   MAJESTY   OF   THE  LAW 

ing  and  writing  rooms,  studies,  and  count- 
less other  amenities  for  the  initiated,  per- 
haps four  hundred  thousand  marks  were 
annually  required :  five  hundred  thousand 
francs,  one  hundred  thousand  dollars, 
twenty  thousand  pounds  sterling  —  an 
appetizing  morsel,  however  reckoned. 

On  a  certain  summer  morning,  in  one 
of  the  larger  court-rooms,  the  benches  re- 
served for  the  public  were  crowded,  and 
although  it  was  haying-time  a  conspicuous 
and  sturdy  contingent  of  peasantry  sat 
manfully  along  the  front  in  their  knee- 
breeches,  scarlet  waistcoats,  and  many 
rows  of  silver  buttons. 

It  was  long  before  court  opened,  much 
after  the  academic  quarter ;  but  who 
would  venture  to  expect  here  the  lowly 
virtue  of  punctuality  ?  The  public  waited, 
for  the  most  part,  silent  and  docile. 
Chaste,  temple-like,  the  noble  propor- 
tions and  discreet  light  of  the  high  and 
oblong  judgment-hall  tended  to  restrain 
unseemly  chatter.  Even  the  careless 
and  such  as  had  strayed  in  from  mere 
curiosity  became  gradually  hushed,  and 
astonished  at  their  own  elevated  senti- 
229 


THE   MAJESTY   OF   THE   LAW 

ments,  as  they  vaguely  meditated  upon 
the  transcendental  wisdom  permeating 
the  atmosphere  ;  gazed  ingenuously  upon 
those  lofty  precincts,  drenched,  as  it  were, 
in  that  virtue  which  we  deem  the  most 
godlike  attribute  of  man ;  and  stared 
meekly  at  the  empty  but  portentous 
judges'  dais  across  the  opposite  end  of 
the  room,  where,  behind  a  fine  railing  of 
demarcation,  were  a  long  and  vastly  eru- 
dite table  and  five  magisterial  Gothic 
chairs  —  a  sort  of  Sinai  in  carved  oak. 

High  above  the  vulgar  a  row  of  small 
loges,  skirting  the  hall  and  entered  by 
glass  doors  from  the  gallery  without,  were 
occupied  by  privileged  guests — those 
favored  by  great  lights  of  the  tribunal, 
or  strangers  of  distinction.  Peradven- 
ture  those  astute  men  in  royal  livery 
might  also  unlock  the  loge  -  doors  for 
travelers  who  presented  no  credentials 
but  a  deft  swift  movement  of  the  hand. 
It  is  not  difficult  to  guess  why  the  great 
statue  of  Justice  in  that  gallery  preferred 
to  wear  a  bandage  over  her  eyes. 

The  vast  machinery  began  at  length  to 
revolve.  Two  gleaming  sentinels  swung 
230 


THE   MAJESTY   OF  THE   LAW 

open  the  great  doors  on  the  right  and 
stood  on  guard.  A  pause  —  long  enough 
to  whet  the  public's  appetite  for  a  felon 
of  large  dimensions.  A  stir.  Should 
then  a  culprit  let  the  righteous  wait  ? 
Two  stalwart  blond  warriors  successfully 
conveyed  the  malefactor  in  and  deposited 
him  in  a  pew-like  receptacle  against  the 
right  wall  —  a  mild-eyed,  white-haired  old 
peasant  walking  with  extreme  difficulty, 
who  shrank  small  and  motionless  into 
the  corner  and  stared  at  the  floor. 

His  counsel,  a  rather  young  augur 
with  pleasant  eyes,  entered  in  black 
gown  and  cap,  seated  himself  on  his 
bench  below  the  prisoner,  opened  a  port- 
folio, and  studied  acts  with  an  admirably 
absorbed  expression.  Presently  more 
stout  guards  unflinchingly  did  their  duty, 
swung  open  other  doors,  and  ushered  in 
the  Prosecutor  for  the  Crown,  who,  also 
in  Talar  and  Barett,  took  his  place  at  the 
right  of  the  dais  and  bent  with  impres- 
sive intentness  over  his  papers.  Strongly 
guarded,  a  herd  of  thirty  unhappy  look- 
ing jurors  stamped  in.  The  clerk,  like- 
wise capped  and  gowned  and  immensely 
231 


THE   MAJESTY   OF   THE   LAW 

preoccupied,  took  the  left  chair  on  the 
dais. 

Finally  a  phalanx  of  three  caps  and 
gowns  together  advanced  with  fine  effect 
from  what  may  be  designated — purely  for 
convenience  —  the  stage-back,  and  the 
President  of  the  Tribunal  and  two  other 
species  of  learned  judge  filled  with  am- 
plitude of  person  and  sombre  dignity  the 
vacuum  in  the  centre ;  so  that  five  black- 
robed  figures  prepared  to  weigh  human 
souls  in  the  balance,  now  loomed  from 
that  judgment  -  seat  and  presented  a 
ghastly  likeness  to  Rhadamanthus,  Mi- 
nos, and  ^Eacus  flanked  by  two  more 
sinister  shapes  like  unto  them.  A  flock 
of  timorous  witnesses — all  villagers  — 
under  reassuringly  strong  escort,  were 
marshalled  to  their  seats  back  to  the 
public  and  mercilessly  facing  these  five 
gentlemen  exhaling  subterranean  gloom. 

Nothing,  in  point  of  fact,  had  as  yet 
transpired.  The  participants  had  but 
assembled.  Yet  already  the  wondering 
layman  was  convinced  of  three  things  : 
that  the  Law  has  indeed  other  methods 
of  procedure  than  our  careless,  unimpres- 
232 


THE   MAJESTY    OF  THE  LAW 

sive,  unhistrionic  ways  of  coming  into 
rooms  and  sitting  down  among  our  fel- 
low creatures  quite  simply  as  if  naught 
depended  on  the  action  ;  that  the  armed 
force  in  that  building  in  time  of  peace 
could  —  unless  its  looks  belied  it  —  with- 
stand an  invasion  of  barbarians  ;  and  that 
if  one  were  personally  led  innocent  be- 
fore that  awful  Five  the  ominous  envi- 
ronment well  might  hypnotize  one  into 
confessing  unattempted  and  undreamed 
of  crimes.  Still  the  world  moves ;  the 
Council  of  Three  and  the  Vehmgericht 
wore  masks,  —  one  patch  of  black  prog- 
nostication more. 

Meanwhile  the  thankless  old  man  for 
whom  all  this  pageant  was  unfolded  sat 
small,  humble,  and  unheeding  in  his  cor- 
ner and  never  raised  his  eyes,  or  had  any 
proper  appreciation  of  the  complicated 
and  imposing  apparatus  in  movement  at 
the  moment  solely  for  him  ;  —  never 
thought  of  the  enormous  expenses  of 
that  Temple  of  Justice,  the  Honorarium 
of  each  of  the  five  Sublimities,  and  the 
salaries  of  the  vassals,  all  accruing  during 
the  time  required  for  his  case,  in  a  certain 
233 


THE   MAJESTY   OF  THE  LAW 

sense  exclusively  on  his  account  —  that, 
in  short,  justice  might  be  done  him. 

Eighteen  things  now  happened  in  due 
course ;  all  indispensable  beyond  a  doubt 
as  that  which  had  preceded,  or  surely 
wisdom  and  learning,  at  the  very  thought 
of  which  the  laical  brain  reels,  would 
never  have  ordained  and  crystallized 
them  in  adamantine  form,  to  shake  which 
ever  so  lightly  were  sheer  profanity. 

But  since  it  was  publicly  known  the 
prisoner  had  confessed  his  deed  and  de- 
livered himself  up  to  the  authorities, 
homely  common  sense  was  altogether 
in  a  bad  plight  and  wellnigh  discouraged 
before  the  legal  bill  of  fare  was  half  com- 
pleted. The  originally  clear  questions 
of  right  and  wrong  became  hardly  per- 
ceptible, so  wadded  were  they  in  here- 
withs,  hereins,  to  wits,  aforesaids,  hereto- 
fores,  and  such  judicial  mufflers.  Things 
at  other  times  of  no  import,  the  pushing 
about  of  pink-covered  acts  and  inkstands 
by  the  five  transcendental  ravens,  became 
after  the  triumphal  impressiveness  of 
their  entrance  fraught  with  strange  sig- 
nificance. The  Prosecutor  for  the  Crown 
234 


THE   MAJESTY    OF  THE   LAW 

regarding  his  well-shaped  hands  seemed 
no  ordinary  man  inspecting  ordinary  hu- 
man nails,  but  a  supernal  being  drawing 
pure  vovs  from  those  polished  sources. 
Only  a  little  group  of  the  augur  frater- 
nity, bending  sharp,  busy  faces  over  docu- 
ments, were  quite  unmoved  by  all  the 
florid  circumstance  —  they  best  knew 
why.  And  always  in  his  corner  sat  the 
meek  old  man,  detached,  remote,  with 
downcast  brooding  eyes. 

1.  The  names  of  thirty  worthy  men  were  read 
out  by  the  Clerk. 

2.  After  much  rejection  on  the  part  of  Prose- 
cution or  Defense,  twelve  of  the  thirty  were 
finally  impaneled  as  jurors. 

3.  Johann  Senfft,  joiner,  Karl  Bauer,  vintner, 
Adam  Mollenkopf,  plumber,  etc.,  were  sworn ;  a 
process  which  they,  being  a  little  heavy  tongued, 
unaccustomed  since  their  remote  school  days  to 
public  feats  of  verbal  repetition,  and  doubtless 
like  everybody  else  in  deadly  fear  of  the  black 
Sublimities,  found  curiously  embarrassing. 

4.  Blood-curdling  admonition  to  rustic  wit- 
nesses to  tell  the  truth,  and  warning  against  per- 
jury.    Witnesses,  already  more  dead  than  alive, 
reconducted  under  strong  guard  from  court  room 
to  place  outside,  and  held  in  a  sort  of  limbo. 

5.  Interrogation  as  to  name,  age,  parents,  reli- 

235 


THE   MAJESTY   OF   THE   LAW 

gion,  and  occupation  of  accused,  and  whether 
previously  indicted. 

6.  Reading  of  the  accusation  —  a  rare  privi- 
lege for  the  unjuridical.     In  most  serious  and 
abstruse  language  was  alleged  of  a  man  who, 
voluntarily  confessing  he  had  burned  down  his 
house,  had  surrendered  himself  to  the  authori- 
ties, that  he  was  under  the  impeachment  of  af- 
fording sufficient  grounds  for  suspicion  that  he 
on  a  certain  date  did  willfully,  deliberately,  con- 
sciously, intentionally,  with  malice  prepense,  etc., 
etc.,  by  setting  fire  to  his  dwelling-house,  perpe- 
trate arson. 

7.  Jakob   Bleibtreu  was  transported  by   the 
giants  on  guard  to  the  very  foot  of  Sinai. 

Being  an  aged  man,  infirm  and  ill,  he 
was  permitted  to  sit.  He  still  preserved 
his  weary,  sad,  and  unconscious  demeanor. 
The  public  could  see  little  but  the  top  of 
his  bowed  white  head.  He  never  glanced 
at  the  jury. 

At  first  under  the  presiding  Magis- 
trate's examination  Bleibtreu' s  voice  was 
almost  inaudible,  but  as  he  continued  and 
related  in  his  own  fashion  what  had  hap- 
pened, the  court  room  became  hushed 
and  his  slow  and  gentle  accents  were 
distinctly  heard. 

In  him  truth  spoke  and  grief.  The 
236 


THE   MAJESTY   OF  THE   LAW 

pomp  and  circumstance  which  preceded 
and  surrounded  him  vanished  like  mist. 
Bent,  wizened,  humble,  unlearned,  un- 
mindful of  effect,  uneloquent,  he  alone 
for  a  brief  period  dominated  that  forum. 
When  he  ceased  a  great  stillness  pre- 
vailed. What  that  loving,  remorseful, 
single-hearted,  dazed,  and  baffled  old  man 
had  done,  what  he  had  felt  and  endured, 
was  clear  as  light.  What  ought  now  to 
occur  —  no  less. 

When  a  child  confesses  a  fault  because 
he  will  not  see  a  mate  blamed  for  it, 
what  decrees  the  tender  wisdom  of  mo- 
thers —  by  no  means  the  least  sound 
code  on  earth  ?  What  were  those  famil- 
iar words  in  the  Book  all  Law  Courts 
openly  profess  to  venerate  ?  If  we  con- 
fess our  sins,  God  is  faithfiil  and  just  to 
forgive  us  our  sins  and  to  cleanse  us 
from  all  unrighteousness.  That  aged 
infirm  man  had  already  been  in  custody 
three  months  awaiting  trial.  Were  it  not 
rank  heresy,  one  fain  would  choose  for 
Bleibtreu  and  his  like,  instead  of  this 
vast  enlightenment  of  judicature,  some 
ruder  plein  air  method  of  early  shep- 
237 


THE   MAJESTY   OF  THE   LAW 

herd  folk.     It  might  have  better  served 
the  purpose. 

Vague  speculation,  too,  upon  the  essen- 
tial meaning  and  uses  of  punishment  fol- 
lowed. What  dire  convulsion  would  have 
rent  the  Commonwealth  had  it  straight- 
way forgiven  the  broken-hearted  man  of 
threescore  and  thirteen  years  ?  There  is 
no  worse  torture  than  the  torture  of  laws, 
wrote  one  named  Francis  Bacon,  bidding 
judges  "  beware  of  hard  constructions 
and  strained  inferences."  Then — the 
solemn  thought  arose  unbidden  and  lin- 
gered —  were  Christ  there  that  day,  how 
would  He  judge,  how  look  upon  this  gen- 
tle old  culprit  ?  But  these  at  best  were 
mere  laical  visions,  —  idle,  irrelevant,  and 
distinctly  lawless.  Bleibtreu  was  recon- 
ducted  to  his  corner  and  the  business  of 
the  court  went  relentlessly  on. 

8.  Witnesses  one  after  another  were  called, 
questioned,  and  cross-questioned  by  the  counsels 
for  prosecution  and  defense  to  prove,  it  would 
seem,  the  probability  that  Bleibtreu  did  the  deed 
he  had  confessed.  Their  testimony  went  appar- 
ently to  establish  the  mooted  points  that  Jakob 
Bleibtreu  had  had  a  house,  a  wooden  house, 
a  hereinbefore  mentioned,  now  (presumably) 
238 


THE   MAJESTY   OF  THE   LAW 

burned  house  —  and  its  distance,  thirty  feet  or 
more,  from  other  buildings,  was  made  manifest 
by  a  diagram  at  which  Johann  Senfft  blinked 
long. 

9.  Examination   of  "experts"  who  declared 
Bleibtreu  to  be  of  sound  mind,  and  who  —  one 
knew  not  the  cause  of  this  favoritism  —  had  been 
permitted  to  remain  in  the  hall  instead  of  being 
promenaded  painfully  back  and  forth  by  gen- 
darmes. 

10.  The  President  of  the  Tribunal  (but  in  no 
such  plebeian  terms  as  follow)  framed  the  ques- 
tions to  be  determined  by  Senfft  and  Co. :  — 

a.  Was  the  prisoner  guilty  of  setting  his  dwell- 
ing-house afire,  thereby  committing  the  offense 
of  arson  ? 

b.  If  so,  were  there  extenuating  circumstances  ? 

11.  The  Prosecutor  for  the  Crown  and  the 
Counsel  for  the  Self-Accused  pleaded  long,  with 
Replik  and  Duplik.     But  what  was  here  to  pro- 
secute, the  ignorant  and  merely  human  person 
asked  himself  aghast. 

The  learned  Counsel  for  the  Crown  in- 
timated, indeed,  that  on  account  of  the 
infrequent  circumstance  of  self-denuncia- 
tion he  should  in  this  instance  overflow 
with  magnanimity.  He  then  proceeded 
to  paint  a  picture  of  an  inky  black  night, 
a  peacefully  sleeping  village,  a  dangerous 
old  man  speeding  across  fields,  the  burst  - 
239 


THE   MAJESTY   OF   THE   LAW 

ing  forth  of  lurid  and  hungry  flames,  — 
until  Johann  Senfft,  Karl  Bauer,  and 
Adam  Mollenkopf  began  to  tremble  for 
their  roofs. 

And  what  was  in  the  prisoner's  mind 
as  he  stole  stealthily  across  those  mid- 
night fields?  What,  Gentlemen  of  the 
Jury,  were  his  i-n-t-e-n-t-i-o-n-s  ?  A  dwell- 
ing-house was  thirty  yards  northwest  of 
Bleibtreu's.  Forty  yards  in  another 
direction  stood  a  well-stocked  unsuspect- 
ing barn.  What  loss  of  life  and  property 
might  not  have  ensued  had  there  been  in 
that  still  and  sheltered  valley  a  tornado,  a 
cyclone  ?  What  mercy  had  Bleibtreu  on 
the  slumbering  and  respectable  fathers 
and  mothers  of  large  families,  and  their 
innocent  and  promising  babes  ?  Here 
Johann  Senfft  and  the  eleven  gazed 
round-eyed  at  the  speaker,  and  even  the 
patient  little  old  man  in  the  box  glanced 
up  once,  mild  and  wondering. 

The  wind,  it  appeared,  was  north,  but, 
Gentlemen  of  the  Jury,  what  if  the  wind 
had  been  southeast ! 

The  augur,  usually  a  young  thunderer, 
for  some  reason  was  moved  on  this  occa- 
240 


THE    MAJESTY   OF  THE   LAW 

sion  to  speak  with  peculiar  gentleness 
and  briefly.  Is  it  conceivable  that  even 
augurs  may  sometimes  long  for  simpli- 
city ?  No  word  of  his,  he  said,  could 
deepen  the  profound  and  memorable  im- 
pression produced  by  his  client ;  claimed 
that  his  manliness  in  submitting  at  his 
age  to  the  humiliation  of  imprisonment 
should  have  great  consideration  in  the 
verdict ;  accentuated  the  fact  that  no 
self-interest  actuated  the  deed,  no  other 
property  was  harmed ;  dwelt  upon  his 
heavy  sorrow  and  mental  depression, 
his  irreproachable  life,  his  years  and 
his  infirmities :  pleaded  strongly  for  ac- 
quittal. 

12.  The  Prisoner,  being  informed  the  last  word 
was  his  privilege,  shook  his  head  wearily. 

13.  The  President  charged  the  jury  as  if  in- 
structing twelve  hopeless  idiots,  so  long,  often, 
and  strenuously  did  he  repeat  his  utterances. 
Yet  if  their  intellects  felt  as  shattered  as  those 
of    most    unprofessional   persons   present,    his 
method   was    perhaps   not   ill  advised.     What 
should  chiefly  govern  their  deliberations  must 
be,  it  appeared,  whether  the  prisoner  in  setting 
incendiary  hands  upon  his  own  property  had  or 
had  not  —  oh  marvelous  jurisprudence !  —  incen- 
diary designs  upon  the  property  of  others. 

241 


THE   MAJESTY   OF  THE   LAW 

14.  The  Court  withdrew,  Bleibtreu  was   re- 
moved, and  the  crushed  public  wandered  drear- 
ily about  and  stared  at  Moses,  Solomon,  Solon, 
and  Lycurgus.     Honest  Johann  Senfft,  joiner, 
Karl  Bauer,  vintner,  Adam  Mollenkopf,  plumber, 
etc.,  were  convoyed  by  the  still  unexhausted  guard 
to  some  stronghold  and  remained  absent  a  full 
hour,  —  conscious  the  eyes  of  the  nation  were 
upon  them,  —  while  they  officially  made  up  their 
minds  whether  or  no  Jakob  Bleibtreu  had  delib- 
erately, willfully,  intentionally,  and  with  malice 
prepense,  set  fire  to  his  dwelling-house,  thereby 
committing  the  offense  of  arson,  and,  if  so,  what 
were  his  motives  in  doing  it. 

15.  The  Court  —  it  were  impious  to  suspect 
their  Honors  had  stooped  to  beer  in  the  long  in- 
terval —  sailed  in  again  black  and  majestic.    The 
prisoner  was  detained  without.     Johann  Senfft, 
being  called  upon,  announced  in  stentorian  tones 
the  verdict :  — 

"In  answer  to  the  first  question  —  Yes,  -with 
more  than  seven  voices" 

"  In  answer  to  the  second  question  —  Yes,  with 
more  than  seven  voices" 

1 6.  Whereupon  the  two  Samsons  in  charge  of 
the  prisoner  brought  him  in  and  held  him  up 
that  he  might  listen  with  fitting  respect  to  what 
Senfft  and  the  others  had  determined  were  the 
ultimate  facts  of  the  case. 

"  Prisoner  at  the  bar,  hear  the  verdict  of  the 
jury,"  was  thundered  down  from  Sinai. 

The  Clerk  then  proclaimed  the  oracu- 
242 


THE   MAJESTY   OF   THE   LAW 

lar  utterance :  "  In  answer  to  first  ques- 
tion —  Yes,  with  more  than  seven  voices" 
But  as  he  did  not  reread  the  question, 
and  the  prisoner  had  long  since  forgotten 
or  indeed  never  grasped  it,  the  truly  legal 
beauty  of  this  situation  was  that  the  per- 
son most  concerned  could  not  possibly 
comprehend  whether  he  was  acquitted  or 
found  guilty. 

"In  answer  to  second  question  —  Yes, 
with  more  than  seven  voices." 

17.  Considerable  discussion  and  pleading  as 
to  degree  of  severity  of  Bleibtreu's  penalty. 

1 8.  Rhadamanthus,  Minos,  and  ^Eacus  retired 
to  concentrate  their  combined  genius  upon  the 
sentence.     After  a  prolonged  absence  they  re- 
appeared,  their   august,  sable   state   quite   un- 
impaired,   and    the    prisoner    was    once    more 
shoved  and  propped  into  deference  to  hear  his 
doom :  — 

Two  YEARS'  IMPRISONMENT,  AND  RECOM- 
MENDATION TO  THE  MERCY  OF  THE  KING. 

As  at  this  season  the  sovereign  was 
busy  entertaining  foreign  potentates,  and 
as  the  formalities  of  the  law  must  pro- 
ceed with  inexorable  circumstance  who- 
ever pines  and  dies,  it  happened  that 
some  weeks  elapsed  before  Jakob  Bleib- 
243 


THE   MAJESTY   OF  THE    LAW 

treu's  humble  griefs  could  be  laid  before 
the  throne.  In  the  meantime  another 
monarch,  all  merciful,  came  unannounced 
by  night  and  released  the  weary  old  man 
from  prison  and  from  pain. 
244 


ALL   SAILS   SPREAD    FOR 
MONKEYLAND 

FROLIC  cherub,  sailing  at  ran- 
dom about  the  universe,  spied 
from  afar  the  bright  windows  of 
a  palace  on  our  earth,  darted  downwards, 
and  floated  in.  He  was  an  affable  little 
being  of  an  inquiring  turn  of  mind,  con- 
sisted at  first  sight  of  but  a  charming 
head,  wings,  et  preterea  nihil  quite  like 
St.  Cecilia's  artless  and  amiable  conge- 
ries in  the  picture  ;  and  he  traveled  very 
comfortably  on  his  own  little  rosy  cloud. 

Only  a  poet  perceived  him. 

Arriving  suddenly  from  cool  starry 
spaces,  he  was  at  first  confused  by  the 
bad  air,  the  din  of  human  speech,  and 
the  braying  of  wide-mouthed  instruments, 
whirled  in  giddy  circles  round  and  round 
like  a  helpless  moth,  and  dashed  against 
chandeliers  and  mirrors.  But  aware  of 
the  imperative  duty  of  the  well-bred  tour- 
245 


ALL   SAILS   SPREAD   FOR   MONKEYLAND 

ist,  he  bravely  adapted  himself  to  his  en- 
vironment, became  mildly  asphyxiated  — 
the  sole  condition  under  which  large  gath- 
erings in  hot  rooms  can  be  enjoyed  — 
steered  for  a  statue  in  a  corner,  reefed 
his  wisp  of  cumulus,  and  anchored  on  a 
departed  monarch's  marble  brow. 

The  poet  strolled  near,  to  be  on  hand 
in  case  he  were  wanted.  Poets  are  less 
unpractical  than  is  popularly  supposed. 

From  that  corner  floated  a  faint  fra- 
grance fresh  as  the  breath  of  gorse  upon 
a  wind-swept  headland,  but  some  fine 
ladies  sniffed,  sneezed,  frowned,  and  said 
they  felt  a  draught. 

The  little  stranger  propped  his  rosy 
visage  upon  his  chubby  fist  —  in  the  atti- 
tude of  the  first  cherub  of  the  Sistine 
Madonna  —  and  contemplated  with  silent 
bewilderment  the  human  antics  before 
him.  (It  is  an  unscientific  and  untena- 
ble theory  that  cherubs  are  limbless. 
The  body  of  the  cherub  exists  potentially 
in  the  cloud,  as  the  oak  in  the  acorn. 
He  merely  draws  forth  an  arm,  a  leg,  or 
whatever  is  required  at  the  moment,  and 
re-inclouds  it  when  superfluous,  thus 
246 


ALL   SAILS   SPREAD   FOR   MONKEYLAND 

easily  commanding,  unlike  the  methods 
of  luckless  human  adolescence,  complete 
and  agreeable  absence  of  body.) 

"  How  wretched  they  look,  poor  dears," 
he  murmured  compassionately.  "  What 
is  this  dreadful  place,  I  wonder,  and  what 
have  they  done  that  they  are  compelled 
to  be  here  ?  " 

"This,"  replied  the  poet,  "is  a  festival 
in  the  king's  palace.  To  many  present 
it  is  the  proudest  moment  of  their  lives. 
Some  have  pushed,  struggled,  stooped  to 
incredible  meannesses,  sold  their  souls, 
indeed,  to  be  seen  here  this  night. 
Others  can  ill  afford  the  outlay,  and  they 
and  their  children  will  suffer  months  of 
privation  for  this  one  pageant.  But 
they  would  all  assure  you  they  were 
happy.  They  are  protesting  one  to  an- 
other how  supremely  happy  they  are, 
and  in  truth  this  is  the  highest  ideal  of 
happiness  many  of  them  possess." 

"  Thank  you  so  very  much,"  the 
cherub  returned,  polite  but  puzzled. 
"  Pardon  me,  but  where  am  I  ?  Is  it 
possible  I  am  on  Terra  ?  I  have  never 
happened  to  visit  one  of  the  wee  rural 
247 


ALL  SAILS    SPREAD   FOR   MONKEYLAND 

planets  before,  and  as  I  rounded  the  tail 
of  the  Great  Bear  I  was  a  little  flighty 
and  lost  my  reckoning.  But  from  your 
kind  remarks  I  judge  this  can  only  be 
the  Earth.  Some  of  my  colleagues  who 
used  to  come  down  occasionally  to  sit  for 
their  portraits  told  me  it  was  the  most 
topsy-turvy  place  imaginable.  But  I 
really  beg  your  pardon.  I  should  be  so 
sorry  to  "  — 

"  Oh,  pray  don't  mind  me.  I  never 
felt  at  home  here." 

The  innocent  wanderer  again  regarded 
the  brilliant  throng  and  turned  his  pretty 
profile  in  all  directions  —  after  the  fash- 
ion of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's  group. 

"They  jerk  their  mouths,"  — 

"Those  are  smiles,"  the  poet  hastened 
to  explain. 

"  But  their  eyes  are  wary  and  unloving. 
Why  is  that  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  dear  Cherub.  I 
only  know  it  is  the  habitual  expression  of 
elderly  human  countenances  confronting 
one  another  on  festive  occasions." 

"  Are  there  none   present  who   have 
not  scrambled  or  sold  their  souls  ? '' 
248 


ALL   SAILS   SPREAD   FOR   MONKEYLAND 

"  Oh,  certainly.  Some  are  here  as  a 
matter  of  course,  —  by  right  of  birth,  — 
and  a  few  have  been  distinguished  for 
merit." 

"  Birth  ?  On  earth  all  are  born,  are 
they  not  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes.  But  some  are  born  with 
distinct  advantages  —  highborn  —  don't 
you  know,  the  hereditary  nobility  ?  " 

The  cherub  shook  his  ambrosial  locks 
dubiously,  and  became  pensive  as  the 
little  Carpaccio  with  the  mandolin. 

"  Are  they  not  all  bora  babies  ?  Not 
unlike  us,  except  they  cannot  subsist  on 
pure  sunshine,  and  they  pucker,  grow  red 
in  the  face,  and  wail  ?  At  least,  that  is 
what  my  colleagues  have  told  me." 

"That  is  true  enough.  But  on  our 
earth  one  baby  is  born  to  honor  and 
privileges,  another  to  hardship,  neglect, 
and  misery." 

"Why?" 

"  Merely  because  the  first  baby's  re- 
mote ancestor  was  strong  or  shrewd 
enough  to  own  and  keep  his  land  —  which 
often  he  stole ;  or  he  went  to  the  wars, 
or  changed  his  name,  or  pleased  the  fancy 
249 


ALL   SAILS   SPREAD  FOR   MONKEYLAND 

or  the  pocket  of  a  king,  or  got  some 
other  sort  of  better  chance  than  his  fel- 
lows." 

"  But  that  is  most  unholy  !  However," 
he  added  blithely  upon  second  thought, 
"  fortunately  you  are  an  ephemeral  spe- 
cies down  here  on  this  minute  object. 
You  bloom  only  sixty  or  eighty  of  your 
own  infinitesimal  years,  I  believe.  Af- 
terwards you  '11  find  those  pernicious 
ideas  will  soon  be  set  to  rights." 

"  Where  ?  "  demanded  the  poet  eagerly. 

"Beyond,"  responded  the  babe  of 
heaven,  "among  the  verities,  the  im- 
mensities, and  the  eternities,"  his  hands 
clasped,  his  gaze  uplifted  in  adoration,  — 
like  the  rapturous  cherubim  of  the  Ro- 
mani  Altar-piece. 

"  Ah  !  "  sighed  the  longing  poet. 

"  Still,"  the  cherub  after  a  while  re- 
marked practically,  "you  are  really 
among  them  now,  even  if  it  seems  quite 
the  other  way  round.  Nothing  and  no- 
body can  escape  them.  So  it  is  the  great- 
est mistake  not  to  set  things  right  as  one 
goes  along.  And  this  most  amazing  mat- 
ter of  the  hereditary  babies  "  — 
250 


ALL   SAILS   SPREAD   FOR   MONKEYLAND 

The  poet  smiled. 

"Will  be  remedied,  never  fear,  dear 
Cherub.  It  is  a  tottering  institution. 
Strong  hands  are  undermining  its  foun- 
dations. Strong  hearts  condemn  it." 

"  It  is  well,"  said  the  cherub  with  em- 
phasis, "for  the  most  fantastic,  unreason- 
able, and  ominous  notion  I  have  met 
with  in  all  my  travels  in  this  or  any  other 
solar  system  is  your  monstrous  illusion 
of  high  and  low  birth.  Now,  if  you 
please,  sir,  what  is  merit  ? " 

"  Merit  ?  "  repeated  the  poet  modestly. 
"  Well,  there  are  various  kinds.  Merit 
in  this  special  sense  is  ascribed  chiefly  to 
those  who  have  excelled  in  the  arts  and 
sciences.  For  instance,  there  is  a  re- 
cently knighted  man  of  the  haute  finance." 

11  Knighted  ?  Haute  finance  ?  What 
art  is  that  ?  " 

The  soft  features  were  screwed  up  in 
helpless  incomprehension. 

"The  noble  art  of  getting  rich.  Still 
more,  the  science  of  playing  astutely 
with  fortunes,  thereby  controlling  men, 
commerce,  politics,  love,  and  war. 
Cherub,  I  see  it  is  too  tough  for  you, 
251 


ALL   SAILS    SPREAD   FOR   MONKEYLAND 

and  I  confess  wealth  never  was  my  forte. 
Let 's  drop  it." 

"  Most  gladly,  for  it  is  indeed  a  grue- 
some theme,  and  imethereal." 

"Do  you  see  that  pale,  thoughtful 
man  ? " 

"  A  gentle  face  with  divination  in  the 
eyes,  as  one  on  a  purer  planet  ?  Pray, 
what  is  his  merit  ? " 

"  He  is  a  great  scientist  and  inventor. 
He  has  produced  the  worst  explosive  yet. 
No  army,  no  town,  can  exist  an  instant 
before  it." 

"Oh,  is  it  thus  cruelly  he  employs 
his  divine  intellect,  when  on  every  side 
myriads  of  beneficent  secrets  are  waiting 
to  be  discovered  by  such  as  he,  for  the 
comfort,  progress,  and  happiness  of  man- 
kind ?  But  you,  friend,  so  patient  with 
my  ignorance,  so  courteous,  —  you,  too, 
look  mild,  and  in  your  deep  eyes  dwells 
thought.  Why  are  you  here  ?  Have 
you  perchance  struggled,  pushed,  and 
demeaned  yourself  to  attain  to  this  place 
of  unrest  ?  Or  were  you  born  high  ? 
Or  did  you  study  to  exterminate  your 
fellow-creatures  ? " 

252 


ALL   SAILS    SPREAD   FOR   MONKEYLAND 

The  poet  blushed 

"I  wrote  a  Patriotic  Ode,"  he  fal- 
tered. 

"  I  'm  sure  you  '11  never  do  it  again," 
rejoined  the  cherub  consolingly,  secretly 
wondering  what  manner  of  thing  it 
might  be  —  terribly  earthy  and  insular, 
he  feared,  —  perceiving  the  other's  de- 
jection. "Would  you  kindly  interpret 
the  eccentric  conduct  of  the  assembly, 
so  convulsive,  you  observe,  and  their  — 
smiles,  I  believe  you  call  them?  —  all 
aimed  in  one  direction  ?  " 

"  His  Majesty  stands  at  some  distance 
talking  with  a  foreign  ambassador." 

"Nobody  down  here  can  hear  what 
they  say  ? " 

"  Not  a  syllable.  But  when  his  Ma- 
jesty deigns  to  jest,  those  standing  near 
delight  to  look  as  if  they  were  part  and 
parcel  of  the  royal  wit.  Those  afar  off, 
disliking  to  be  left  out  in  the  cold,  insist 
upon  smiling  also.  Thus  a  great,  obse- 
quious, expectant  grin  ripples  over  the 
whole  surface  of  the  company." 

"  Does  it  matter  much  what  one  Ter- 
ranean  says  to  another  ? " 
253 


ALL   SAILS   SPREAD   FOR   MONKEYLAND 

The  poet  stared,  this  inquiry  striking 
him  as  too  preposterously  naive  for  even 
the  other-worldliness  of  cherubim. 

"  Still,"  continued  the  artless  prattler, 
intent  as  the  little  Correggio  sharpen- 
ing the  arrow,  —  who,  strictly  speaking, 
is  an  Amor,  but  that  is  only  a  cherub's 
first  cousin  once  removed,  —  "I  really 
need  not  be  surprised,  for  I  remember 
a  friend  of  mine  was  relating  to  a  lot  of 
us,  at  the  last  Aurora  Borealis,  that  you 
earth-born  could  one  minute  be  fiercely 
hurling  cocoanuts  at  one  another's  heads, 
and  the  next  might  grin  and  jabber  and 
mimic  prodigiously,  quite  as  at  present." 

"Cherub,"  retorted  the  poet  severely, 
for  the  first  time  rather  hurt,  "  you  'd 
better  read  some  good  scientific  books 
and  improve  your  mind.  The  pitchers  of 
cocoanuts  are  not  human  beings,  and,  if 
ever  even  remotely  related  to  us,  it  was 
aeon  upon  aeon  ago." 

The  little  angel  —  now  nestling  in  the 
classic  pose  of  the  second  cherub  of  the 
Sistine  Madonna  —  nodded  sagaciously. 

"Ah,  yes,  I  had  forgotten.  Time 
has  another  meaning,  ici-bas.  From  the 
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ALL   SAILS   SPREAD    FOR    MONKEVLAND 

aerated  point  of  view,  your  arbitrary  dis- 
tinctions are  quite  unimportant.  It  was, 
as  you  suggest,  some  few  seons  ago  that 
my  friend  noted  the  vivacious  manners 
of  the  cocoanut  ladies  and  gentlemen. 
An  arboreal  race,  was  it  not  ?  You  are 
not  fond  of  these  relatives  ?  Let  us  talk 
of  something  else.  Those  men  in  bright 
clothes  with  little  toys  and  trinkets  on 
their  breasts,  —  what  are  they,  and  why 
do  they  wear  danglers  ? " 

"  They  are  eminent  generals.  They 
lead  our  armies  to  battle." 

"  Killers  !  "     The  cherub  shuddered. 

"The  bits  of  metal,  the  crosses  and 
stars  in  gold  and  silver  and  enamel,  are 
orders,  decorations,  marks  of  distinction 
conferred  by  the  sovereign  in  commem- 
oration of  gallantry  and  success  in  war." 

"  In  killing  !  I  have  heard  of  these 
most  painful  customs.  Men  decorate 
themselves,  as  well,  with  chains  of  beads 
and  shells  and  human  teeth,  and  some- 
times leap  and  howl  round  fires,  and  wear 
as  trophies  the  skulls  of  their  victims." 

"Cherub,  you're   off  the  track,"   re- 
monstrated the  poet. 
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ALL   SAILS    SPREAD    FOR   MONKEYLAND 

"  No  doubt,"  returned  the  little  one 
sweetly,  —  with  a  lovely,  outstretched 
movement  as  of  floating  down  the  ray  in 
Paul  Veronese's  Adoration  of  the  Magi, 
—  "one  does  get  so  very  desorienti 
when  one  travels  so  much  and  so  rapidly 
as  we,  and  roams  through  millions  of 
mansions.  Besides,  I  am  a  particularly 
scatter-brained  cherub.  You  see,"  he 
cooed  confidingly,  "few  of  us  small 
fellows  have  any  regular  work  on  Earth. 
We  may  chance  to  drift  hither  in  play 
hours  and  holidays  on  idle  voyages  of 
discovery.  But  the  truth  is,  we  are  con- 
sidered too  light  weight  for  this  line  of 
business.  It  takes  our  strongest,  most 
able-bodied,  large-sized  seraphs  to  tackle 
things  down  here." 

His  innocent  glance  fell  upon  a  small, 
bright  object  attached  to  the  poet's  coat. 

"  You,  friend,  wear  a  dangler  ?  You 
are,  then,  a  "  — 

"  I  am  what  is  called  a  minor  poet," 
replied  the  young  man  gloomily. 

"  Poets  I  know  well,"  said  the  cherub 
softly,  with  a  rapt  look,  —  holy,  wonder- 
ful, as  the  most  beautiful  Murillo.  "  God 
256 


ALL   SAILS    SPREAD   FOR   MONKEYLAND 

loves  them.  In  the  Beyond,  unspeak- 
able is  their  bliss.  Even  on  this  Earth, 
their  mystic  hints  reveal  the  high  destiny 
of  the  soul.  They  are  the  prophets, 
—  the  sacred  seers  of  secrets.  Let  kings 
come  bow  to  them." 

The  listener  snatched  his  decoration 
from  his  breast. 

After  a  while  the  cherub  remarked : 
"  Two  care-worn,  venerable  men  are  walk- 
ing together  down  the  room.  They  also 
wear  many  rows  of  childish  gewgaws, 
yet  are  not  killers  surely,  —  still  less 
poets." 

"  The  Minister  of  War  and  the  Minis- 
ter of  the  Interior,  both  grown  gray  hi 
the  service  of  the  state,  —  which  practi- 
cally means  helping  it  to  recuperate  from 
one  war  and  preparing  it  to  meet  the  de- 
mands of  the  next." 

"War,  war!"  murmured  the  grieved 
cherub.  "Hatred,  bloodshed,  desola- 
tion, and  tears,  —  internecine  massacre  ! 
I  was  dimly  aware  of  the  existence  of 
primitive  and  barbarous  spheres  where 
tribal  conditions  obtain,  but  have  never 
before  realized  the  gloom  of  such  re- 
257 


ALL   SAILS   SPREAD    FOR   MONKEYLAND 

tarded  development.  My  colleagues 
were  quite  right.  They  warned  me  I 
should  find  it  altogether  too  depressing 
in  your  tiny  but  fierce  hamlet,  and  bade 
me  wait  a  few  cycles.  Those  are  your 
young  savage  chiefs  ? " 

"  We  call  them  officers." 

"  Whom  will  they  go  out  to  tomahawk 
and  spear  ?  " 

"Their  weapons,  too,  we  designate 
otherwise.  Still,  after  all,  that  may  be 
a  mere  detail.  It  matters  little  against 
whom  war  is  declared.  Here,  there,  any- 
where. All  the  nations  are  more  or  less 
alike.  Each  glorifies  itself  and  vilifies 
its  neighbor.  This  habit  of  mind  we 
esteem  a  virtue  and  give  it  an  imposing 
name.  We  are  chiefly  employed  in  snarl- 
ing about  geographical  boundaries.  A 
trifle  precipitates  the  animosity.  Then 
we  march  forth  and  destroy  one  another." 

"  Alas,  a  topsy-turvy  globe  indeed,  or, 
rather,  globule !  "  exclaimed  the  little 
one,  fluttering  a  lively  multiplicity  of  pin- 
ions with  a  fine  Donatello  or  della  Rob- 
bia  effect.  "  Yet  take  heart,  Poet.  As 
we  were  tobogganing  on  the  rainbow 
258 


ALL   SAILS   SPREAD   FOR   MONKEYLAND 

the  other  day,  one  of  our  most  luminous 
cherubs,  —  an  authority,  too,  on  World- 
Germs,  —  remarked :  '  Terra  is  slow,  but 
she  will  arrive.'  Who  are  those  amiable 
gentlemen  in  gay  coats,  stars,  and  rib- 
bons ? " 

"  That  is  the  diplomatic  corps.  They 
represent  the  nations." 

"  In  what  respect,  pray  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  that  nobody  knows  exactly.  If 
one  could  possibly  imagine  what  they 
did,  it  would  no  longer  be  diplomacy. 
Visibly,  they  dine  a  good  deal,  make 
ornate  speeches,  amuse  themselves  fa- 
mously, cable  tremendous  dispatches, 
and  compose  wit  and  wisdom  for  their 
autobiographies. 

"  But  at  least  they  do  not  help  to  let 
loose  wars  ? " 

"They?     Rather!" 

"  Yonder  stands  a  white-haired,  saintly 
old  man  in  simple  black.  His  occupa- 
tion, kind  Poet  ? " 

"He  is  a  distinguished  Christian  pre- 
late.    He  preaches   peace.     He  exhorts 
us  to  return  good   for  evil,  to  love  our 
enemies  and  bless  our  persecutors." 
259 


ALL   SAILS   SPREAD   FOR   MONKEYLAND 

"  At  last ! "   cried  the  cherub  joyously. 

"  But  in  time  of  war  he  implores  the 
God  of  battles  "  — 

"There  is  none  ! "  solemnly  ejaculated 
the  cherub. 

"To  grant  us  victory,  while  the 
saintly  divines  of  our  enemies  are  as 
fervently  beseeching  Him  to  defeat  our 
forces  and  let  theirs  triumph." 

The  cherub  drooped  his  wings. 
"Tribal,"  he  sighed,  "essentially  tribal," 
—  and  under  his  breath  repeated  words 
amazingly  like  :  "  Cannibals  that  each 
other  eat,  the  Anthropophagi." 

"  Cannibals  !    Oh  —  I  say  —  Cherub  !  " 

"  But  is  not  this  the  dreary  planet  of 
blood-stained  food  ?  Stained  with  the 
blood  of  lowly  kindred?  Brothers  and 
sisters  in  feathers  and  fur,  and  those  pos- 
sessed, it  may  be,  of  a  few  more  legs 
and  horns  than  you  human  animals  have 
at  the  moment,  yet  all  of  the  selfsame 
Mother  Earth  stock.  Do  you  not  merci- 
lessly enslave  and  torture,  kill  and  habit- 
ually devour  the  non-human  animals  ?  Or 
do  I  wrong  you?  Is  it  elsewhere  that 
cruelty  reigns  supreme  ? " 
260 


ALL   SAILS   SPREAD   FOR   MONKEYLAND 

"Alas  !  "  sighed  the  poet,  "it  is  here." 

After  a  prolonged  silence  the  cherub 
gravely  resumed  :  "  It  is,  I  fear,  a  super- 
fluous question,  where  all  are  either  kill- 
ers or  abettors  of  carnage ;  but  those  tall 
men  in  scarlet  and  gold  moving  every- 
where, and  bearing  shining  disks  ? " 

"Are  harmless  men  of  peace,"  re- 
sponded the  poet  carelessly,  "  being  only 
servants." 

"  Only  ? " 

"Well,"  —  hesitating,  —  "we  look 
upon  them  as  inferiors." 

"  Have  they,  then,  committed  crimes 
even  worse  than  war  ? " 

"By  no  means,  little  Cherub.  They 
minister  to  our  comfort,  and  do  for  us 
what  we  are  too  lazy  or  too  ignorant  to 
do  for  ourselves." 

Perplexity  clouded  the  baby -angel's 
brow  and  his  lip  quivered. 

"  Poet,  your  Earth  is  strangely  sad.  I 
think  I  '11  go  home." 

"  Ah,  do  not  leave  me,"  entreated  the 

poet.     "  Remain  yet  a  little.     You  have 

chanced  upon  some  of  our  ugliest  traits. 

But  Earth  has  also  its  loveliness.     Come 

261 


ALL  SAILS   SPREAD    FOR   MONKEYLAND 

with  me  and  I  will  show  you.  You  shall 
look  upon  wholesome  home-life,  —  upon 
friendship,  sympathy,  unselfish  devotion ; 
upon  the  strong  love  of  man  and  woman, 
which  at  its  highest  sees  heaven  open. 
We  mortals  know  brief  seasons  of  peace, 
holy  instincts  of  protection  and  pity.  At 
all  times  have  been  ardent  souls  ready 
to  lay  down  their  lives  for  the  oppressed. 
Some  of  Earth's  vistas  are  fair  as  dreams 
of  Paradise.  Earth's  flowers,  Earth's 
young  children  have  faces  pure  as  your 
own.  Earth's  music,  all  her  longing, 
soaring  art,  is  heaven-born.  We  are  not 
wholly  base.  Surely  a  breath  of  the  Be- 
yond inspires  even  us." 

"  It  vivifies  the  universe,  and  therefore 
even  you.  In  spite  of  yourselves  you 
cannot  escape  the  eternal  Law  of  Pro- 
gress which  rules  all  life.  But  while 
your  butchery  of  war  prevails,  your  sys- 
tem of  international  assassination,  it  re- 
mains a  brutal  and  benighted  place, — 
ce  bas  monde," 

"Look!"  cried  the  young  man  eager- 
ly. "Look  through  the  great  doorway 
where  the  crowd  breaks,  and  see  our 
262 


ALL   SAILS    SPREAD    FOR   MONKEYLAND 

maidens  dance !    Surely  that  is  no  dreary 
sight." 

"  Is  that  dancing  ? "  the  cherub  gently 
turned  away  after  one  glance.  "The 
men's  legs  are  so  many  and  so  obvious  ! 
You  should  see  us  dance,  in  space,  at  a 
dawn  party."  His  iridescent  pinions  flut- 
tered rhythmically,  and  his  cloud  swayed 
to  and  fro  as  he  carolled  under  his  breath  a 
mystic  measure  of  unearthly  beauty  which 
ever  after  haunted  the  poet's  brain. 

"  Blessed  Arch-cherub  who  may  hear 
the  morning  stars  sing  together !  Now 
watch  our  young  girls  drifting  in,  all 
whiteness  and  sweetness."  For  an  in- 
stant the  poet  was  light  of  heart  and 
exclaimed  proudly :  "  Behold  Earth's 
best  and  dearest !  " 

The  winsome  being  put  his  thumb  in 
his  mouth  and  cuddled  down  content. 

"  They  look  familiar  as  my  own  dear 
mates,  and  are  doubtless  wise  and  good 
as  they  are  fair." 

The  poet  stroked  his  moustache. 

"  Well,  perhaps  they  might  be  a  grain 
wiser.  You  see  these  are  girls  of  the 
best  society." 

263 


ALL   SAILS   SPREAD   FOR   MONKEYLAND 

"  The  which  ?  Again,  I  cannot  under- 
stand your  terrestrial  patois." 

"  Upon  my  word,  Society  is  a  vastly 
difficult  thing  to  explain  to  a  cherub. 
You  see  it  is  a  condition  that  surrounds 
them." 

"And  draws  them  toward  the  great 
light  ? " 

"  Quite  the  contrary.  I  'm  bound  to 
confess  it  stunts  their  intellects,  cools 
their  hearts,  and  weakens  their  bodies." 

"  Bless  my  wings  !     A  disease  ?  " 

"  It  may  well  be  called  a  disease,  deep- 
seated  and  infectious.  It  debars  them 
from  knowledge  that  would  lend  mean- 
ing and  consecration  to  their  lives,  and 
excludes  as  rather  worse  than  sin  all 
healthful  activity,  self-reliance,  and  large 
aims." 

"  Poor,  pretty  dears  !  But  at  least 
they  are  able  to  fly  with  a  message  of 
tenderness  and  comfort  to  the  sorrowful, 
the  scorned,  the  outcast,  the  erring,  the 
sorely  tempted  ? " 

"  Not  they  !  They  may  associate  only 
with  the  very  genteel." 

"  Genteel  ?  An  uncelestial  word,  and 
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ALL   SAILS    SPREAD   FOR   MONKEYLAND 

wearisome.  We  cherubs  know  it  not. 
How  do  they  employ  the  hours  God 
lends  them  ?  " 

"  Alas !  they  fritter  them  away  and  are 
self-satisfied.  They  sleep  and  know  not 
their  strength.  Yet  they  are  more 
sinned  against  than  sinning,  for  they 
have  been  sacrificed  for  ages." 

The  cherub's  bewilderment  had  waxed 
larger  than  himself,  but  now  he  replied, 
with  a  delightful  air  of  reminiscence  :  — 

"  Such  virgins,  I  have  heard,  are  sacri- 
ficed by  scores  to  Artemis." 

"  Cherub  !  I  really  must  protest ! 
Those  were  heathen  misdeeds  now  quite 
out  of  date.  Our  maids  marry.  Each 
counts  herself  blessed  to  be  chosen  by 
a  man  whether  she  truly  care  for  him 
or  no,  and  to  secure  a  soldier  or  great 
wealth  is  her  chief  ambition." 

"Wealth?  Ah,  I  remember.  We 
must  not  speak  of  it.  That  is  where  we 
draw  the  line.  What  are  the  young 
chiefs  saying  to  the  maids,  that  they 
smile  and  look  down  ?  " 

"Possibly  that   their   eyes   are   large 
and  their  hands  small." 
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ALL  SAILS   SPREAD   FOR  MONKEYLAND 

"But  that  they  must  know  already. 
Can  such  honeyed  marrons  please 
them  ?  "  —  roguish  as  the  Bordone  Love 
crowning  Daphnis  and  Chloe  with  a 
wreath. 

"Presumably,  since  they  listen  greed- 
ily generation  after  generation." 

"  Do  they  in  turn  inform  the  men  what 
sort  of  eyes  and  hands  they  have,  and 
chins  and  ears  ?  " 

"That  would  be  most  indelicate." 

"  But  why  ?  What  is  the  difference  ? 
I  assure  you,  on  the  planet  Mars,  where 
they  are  far  more"  —  With  a  startled 
expression  he  pressed  both  dimpled 
hands  upon  his  mouth. 

"  Where  they  are  far  more  what  ?  Ah, 
tell  me,  —  only  speak  !  One  word,  one 
hint ! " 

"I  am  really  the  most  inadvertent 
youngster  upon  the  aerial  plane !  Tale- 
bearing from  world  to  world  is  not  al- 
lowed. One  world  at  a  time  is  the  rule 
for  you,  at  least  until  your  spirits  sprout. 
The  fair  maids  strive,  then,  above  all 
things,  to  please  the  killers  ?  And  are 
the  sachems  pleased  ? " 
266 


ALL   SAILS    SPREAD   FOR   MONKEYLAND 

"  Oh  yes,  for  a  season  or  so." 

"  And  what  then  ? " 

"  Well,  they  marry  and  settle  down  in 
the  usual  mundane  way." 

"  Do  they  still  tell  them  of  their  eyes 
and  hands  ?  " 

"Not  much." 

"  And  afterwards  ? " 

"In  due  time  they  grow  like  these 
matrons  here."  — 

"  What !     With  the  unquiet  eyes  ?  " 

"Even  so.  And  assiduously  rear 
daughters  to  be  seen  of  marriageable 
men." 

The  cherub  distractedly  ran  his  fin- 
gers through  his  curls  until  he  pushed 
his  nimbus  quite  awry.  "  Oh  Poet,  why 
was  it  worse  to  die  for  Artemis  ?  That 
was  so  much  less  lingering !  " 

Again  the  two  regarded  the  fair  girls, 
a  radiant  sight ;  despite  all  mortal  imper- 
fections, warming  to  the  heart  and  fraught 
with  nameless  promise. 

"When  they  awaken,"  — pronounced 
the  cherub  in  prophecy. 

"  And  know  their  strength,"  responded 
the  other. 

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ALL   SAILS    SPREAD    FOR    MONKEYLAND 

"  They  shall  be  the  peacemakers  "  - 

"The  true  mothers  of  the  nations." 

"Yet  not  amid  this  grievous  tumult 
shall  their  high  mission  be  revealed." 

"  But  you  see  they  must  '  come  out ' 
and  be  presented  to  the  King.  Such  are 
our  inexorable  rites." 

"The  King!  Ah,  yes.  This  is  his 
palace.  All  are  here  because  of  him, 
eager  for  his  glance,  his  lightest  word. 
He  doubtless  is  the  solution  of  much 
that  bewilders  me.  Why  was  he  chosen 
guide  and  father  of  his  people  ?  For 
what  virtues,  what  great  and  glorious 
achievements  of  love  and  luminousness  ? " 

"He  was  born  King." 

"  Born  ?     A  high,  hereditary  baby  ? " 

"The  highest." 

"  Then  he  rules  not  because  he  is  illu- 
mined from  within,  and  pitiful,  but  on 
account  of  something  or  other  done 
by  somebody  long  dead  ?  " 

"That 's  about  it,  Cherubino." 

"  Oh  mad  Earth  ! "  sighed  the  little 
one  and  fell  into  a  pink  study. 

"  But  being  King,"  he  resumed  more 
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ALL   SAILS   SPREAD   FOR   MONKEYLAND 

hopefully,   "he  has  made  himself  lofty, 
magnanimous,  serene  ?  " 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,  he  's  not  a  bad  sort." 

"  Beloved  ? " 

"  If  we  may  believe  the  government 
newspapers." 

"  He  labors  for  his  folk  and  surfers 
with  them  ? " 

"  His  Majesty's  existence  is  not  pre- 
cisely laborious." 

"In  time  of  calamity  he  strengthens 
and  sustains  by  his  presence  ? " 

"  A  Cabinet  Secretary's  secretary 
writes  a  document  or  telegram." 

"  But  the  poor,  the  oppressed,  the 
humble  men  and  women  with  wrongs 
and  petitions,  may  always  by  day  or  night 
claim  audience  and  justice  before  his 
throne  ? " 

"  Cherub  !  Do  we  dwell  in  tents  ? 
Such  tramps  would  not  be  allowed  to 
pass  the  first  sentry  at  the  palace  gates. 
You  will  presently  see  what  his  Majesty 
is  like.  By  the  backbone  of  the  com- 
pany, I  infer  he  is  approaching.  Watch 
the  dowagers  dip." 

269 


ALL   SAILS    SPREAD    FOR   MONKEYLAND 

The  infantile  features  expressed  dis- 
tinct perturbation,  and  the  caressing 
voice  lisped  hurriedly :  "  If  you  don't 
mind,  Poet,  I'll  not  wait  to  see  them 
sink  into  the  ground  before  a  mere  born 
man  whom  they  neither  love  nor  revere. 
That  must  be  an  awful  spectacle  even 
when  you  are  used  to  it,  and  it  is  some- 
thing no  cherub  can  understand.  Be- 
sides, my  t$te-de-linotte  is  as  full  as  it 
will  hold." 

With  a  bright  and  dewy  smile  he 
added  :- 

"As  my  province  is  planets  in  full 
florescence,  my  opinion  on  a  small,  late 
bulb  like  Earth  is,  like  myself,  the  merest 
winged  nothing,  —  a  trifle  light  as  air, 
and  I  beg  your  indulgence  for  my  chat- 
ter. Even  your  mumpsimus  and  myopy 
must  some  time  disappear,  and  I  doubt 
not  the  matter  is  already  in  the  proper 
hands.  Nil  Desperandum. 

"  So  farewell,  Poet,  dear,  and  a  thou- 
sand thanks,"  he  murmured  with  a  suave, 
Botticelli  manner.  "Take  care  of  your 
afflatus.  I  '11  look  in  again  shortly  and  see 
how  you  are  getting  on ;  say  in  a  milliard 
270 


ALL   SAILS   SPREAD    FOR   MONKEYLAND 

years,  when  Earth  shall  have  become  a 
little  less  arboreal." 

"  Ah !  but  you  '11  not  find  me." 

"As  if  that  were  a  thing  to  weep 
about !  Do  you  suppose  in  your  next 
ttape  you  are  going  to  miss  your  cocoa- 
nuts  ?  How  doggedly  you  Terraneans 
cling  to  your  dense  Simian  bodies  and  to 
your  murky  little  islet!  Do  you  never 
long  to  travel  ?  Never  desire  to  behold 
other  and  purer  humanities  ?  Never  re- 
member you  are,  after  all,  souls,  hence 
allied  with  high  cosmic  races  ?  Even  be- 
fore your  spirits  are  released  from  their 
umvieldly  shells,  if  you  would  only  stop 
fighting  long  enough  to  learn  the  first 
principles  of  aerostation  and  interstellar 
communication,  you  might  enlighten  your- 
selves amazingly.  Already  Mars,  and 
even  Venus,  not  to  speak  of —  But 
there  I  am  at  it  again  !  " 

Some  one  happened  to  open  a  case- 
ment. 

"Here's  my  cherubic  chance.  Auf 
Wiedersehen  in  the  star  where  poets  go 
to  meet  their  dreams." 

Enchantingly  alert,  mischievous  yet 
271 


ALL   SAILS    SPREAD    FOR   MONKEYLAND 

mysterious  a  la  Albani's  winsome  Loves, 
the  cherub  loosed  his  moorings,  and, 
drawn  up  to  his  full  height  on  the  quar- 
ter-deck, put  off. 

The  poet  wistfully  watched  him  as 
he  rose  gallantly  on  the  breeze,  swept 
across  the  face  of  the  moon,  and  steered 
E.S.E.  for  Sirius. 

272 


CAMBRIDGE,  MASSACHUSETTS    f .  S.  A 

BLECTROTYPED  AND  PRINTED  BY 

H.  O.  HOUGHTON  AND  CO. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


m-11,'50  (2554)444 


in  nn 

L  007  408  476 


PS 

3009 

T7s 


